V is for Vanished
by EnigmaSphinx
Summary: REWRITE IN PROGRESS-Pain is the most personal possession of all. Hearts break, souls shatter, and darkness descends. When does the sufferer's endurance fail and what happens as a result?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: We couldn't resist the pull toward the Averys. Again we are bringing another tale into play but we issue fair warning: This is the LAST in the arc. We may be prevailed upon for a challenge or a one-shot but otherwise this is it. That's the plan, people. Hopefully this one will be the best of the lot.--For those of you who have been reading this tale, I apologize in advance. The story has undergone a major overhaul and is being replotted in an effort to bring the entire series to a close. Thank you for your patience, this should be the last of edits I intend to do. I appreciate you, all my readers, I sincerely hope this pleases you. ES

Disclaimers: V for Vendetta, both movie and GN, belong to their respective owners/creators. I do not own them. I make nothing by writing these stories except a sternly disapproving glare from my ever-patient spouse.

**V is for Vanished**

Stephen and Evey went to the registrar's in the village the very next day.

The Avery triplets accompanied them as witnesses. Although they called Eric and invited him, he did not come to Gallowsmere. Instead, he sent Dominic Stone as his representative, citing an overload of work that prevented his appearance.

The young policeman was welcomed warmly to the ceremony.

Dom stood on Evey's side of the small office and listened to the official reading the marriage vows, although his thoughts were on the woman that had promised to marry him and the ceremony that they'd planned. He was the only person behind Evey and his gaze slid irresistibly toward the slender brown-haired girl who stood with three men behind Stephen. He recognized her, of course, could not forget her face even if he wanted to. Dominic stared at her, remembering the "workroom" and the sight of her burning Eric's arms. He frowned slightly, wondering why she was here and Eric wasn't.

The girl was as beautiful as ever, her pretty face composed into a polite mask of attention. She leaned upon the more muscular of the two younger men, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm trustingly. A sudden movement drew Dom's attention to the man supporting the girl. The young man's face was like Stephen's in a general sense, but the features were heavier, more brutish. His hard green eyes stared at Dominic in open irritation. The policeman swallowed at the expression and turned his full attention to the front of the room, where Stephen was slipping a ring on Evey's hand.

Evey smiled up at her husband, her face glowing with happiness, and Dominic remembered the moment to report it to Eric in detail. He hoped his own fiancé would look at him with that same adoration when they were to be married.

After the ceremony, Stephen took them to the nicest restaurant in the village and they sat drinking and eating with a number of townsfolk.

The girl ate little, Dominic noticed, although her brothers (she had brothers?) tempted her to eat more. The bigger brother plied her with food, doting on her with an obvious concern that she permitted but didn't seem pleased about. The other brother, his perfect features at odds with his wary expression, appeared to be torn between his sister and the delicate man with the big blue eyes who kept him company. The girl smiled at their attention but, when she wasn't being watched, Dom noticed that her face was shadowed and distant.

As Evey was pressed by the women in the restaurant to toss her little bouquet, the girl very quietly slipped outside alone.

Curiously, Dominic followed, acting as though he simply stepped out for a cigarette. In the quiet afternoon light, he was startled to find her right outside the restaurant. She sat perched upon a bench near the door, her head bowed, the long brown hair shielding her face like a curtain.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked politely, tapping a slender cylinder out of his slightly crumpled pack.

The girl glanced up briefly and he realized that her dark brown eyes were full of pain. It shocked Dom for he'd seen the same look recently. In another pair of eyes, altogether different but with the same burning anguish, the same hopeless suffering.

He suddenly suspected where Eric's expression had come from.

The girl shook her head after a moment. "Certainly not," she said wearily. Her attention wandered away then returned to him, eyes narrowing as she watched him light the tobacco. She looked at him a moment more. "I remember you," she continued, the words soft. "You're Eri…Inspector Finch's friend, aren't you?" He marked the slip for future reference.

"I'm Dominic Stone, Eric's partner." She nodded, averting her face again, and Dom continued as though he'd just placed her. "You're Stephen's niece, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Her response was diffident. Dominic drew on his cigarette, watching her out of the corner of his eye. In the watery afternoon light, she seemed paler than was healthy, a tad too slender as well judging by the shadows under her wide brown eyes and the stark lines on her fair face. She looked... She looked as though she were in mourning. He frowned at the thought as he exhaled a thin curl of smoke.

Of course, Eric hadn't looked quite himself since his stay at Gallowsmere either.

The girl glanced up and caught his expression. "What is it?" she asked warily. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was thinking that the last time I saw you, you'd just been shot. It must have been a...difficult recovery." She managed a faint smile that didn't touch her eyes..

"Really? Was that what you were thinking?" The question was light, almost wistful. She sighed a moment later. "I'm quite recovered now, thank you. The body heals despite what we expect to the contrary."

He mulled that answer over, watching her secretively as he smoked his cigarette. "I didn't know you had brothers," he said, a little desperate to keep the conversation going. She glanced over her shoulder toward the restaurant.

"They were…away a long time,returning only a short while ago." She looked down at the skirt that covered her knees thoughtfully. "Inspector Finch met them briefly but I rather doubt he would have spoken of them." A slight hesitation, followed by a curious glance, prefaced her next question. "Is he well?" Her voice was soft, a little sad and breathy.

"Eric?" he asked in surprise, although the question did not surprise him at all. "He's working too hard, of course. There have been more problems with the Fingermen in London and it's taking a lot of his time."

"I see." She lowered her head again. "I am sorry he didn't come out as well, Mr. Stone. Evey and Stephen will have missed him at this event."

He was tempted to ask her the one question only she could answer but it paused on the tip of his tongue, suddenly too intimate to be spoken.

In the sudden silence, she shifted in her seat, one bare arm lying in her lap. The smattering of scars was plain upon the light skin and Dom stared at them, remembering the matching scars on Eric's arms and mesmerized by his memories of their making. The girl looked up, realized why he was silent at the expression on his face, and the pain in her eyes deepened until her brown eyes were nearly black. She folded her arms across her midriff, hiding the scars. "I'm sorry," she said dully. "I should go back in, I suppose…" She rose and took a step toward the door.

"Why didn't you pick me?" he asked, blurting the question out, instantly appalled that he'd actually asked it. The girl tilted her head curiously, as though she hadn't quite understood. "That day…You picked Eric. Why not me?"

"I know what you meant," she said quietly. "I was simply surprised you asked me." For a moment longer, she waited but he didn't speak again and she shook her head before turning toward the door. Dom cleared his throat in a sharp bark, bringing her attention back to him immediately.

"I sometimes still think of that day," he retorted, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette irritably. "And I always wonder why."

"You won't care for the answer, Mr. Stone."

He lifted hard eyes to her. The deceptively gentle tone of her voice galled him, brought his anger to the fore. "Tell me anyway," he demanded. She hesitated then nodded wearily in surrender.

"Quite frankly, you would have broken too quickly, Mr. Stone. Your heart rate was through the roof, anticipation was driving you toward overload. Eric's heart was steadier, he had faith that nothing irreparable would happen before Stephen arrived. Had I begun with you, there would have been no time before I broke you.." Her voice changed, softened. "It was practical, Mr. Stone, not a personal decision…"

"It was the pinnacle of personal," Dom snapped. The girl frowned at his bitter tone.

"Perhaps you are correct," she conceded. "I... just knew he was the better choice." She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "This is neither the time nor the place to have this conversation." As she moved to pass him, he reached out and took hold of her arm with his free hand, fingers biting into her skin.

"You hurt him," he said angrily. "And I mean since then. What did you do to Eric this time?"

She lifted her eyes to his, the pain overwhelming in the chocolate depths, and, while her grief shocked him, her reply stole his breath away. "Pain is the most personal possession of all, Mr. Stone. If you want that question answered, you'll need to ask the one who feels pain. If they choose not to answer you, then you have to live with not knowing."

A movement behind them signaled someone coming out the door.

"Clair?" The interrupting voice was gruff. "Why is this man touching you?" Dom didn't need to turn to deduce that the muscular brother had just joined them. "Get your hand off my sister, cop, or I'll break it off your wrist."

Clarissa held up her free hand. "Caine, I'm fine. Don't start a fight today." She turned her attention to Dom, her expression suddenly careless and casual. "Mr. Stone was just offering me a steadying hand. Weren't you, Mr. Stone?" Dom released her as she presented a brilliant but false smile to her brother. "There, Caine, all is well. See?"

Caine stepped toward her, throwing an angry glare at the young policeman. "I came to see if you were alright," he said more gently. "Clair?"

"I'm fine, Caine." She offered her brother her hand. "I was just reminiscing with Mr. Stone. Old times, you know." She sighed. "I'm ready to go back inside now."

Caine touched her as though she were spun glass, his big hands gentle as he led her back inside. Dominic wondered at the care the big man took for it seemed at odds with his nasty attitude. Alone, Dom finished the cigarette, mulling over the conversation, and then went back into the gathering. Evey found him nursing a pint a little while later and sat down with him.

"Hullo, Dom."

"Congratulations, Evey." She frowned and he already knew what she was going to ask by the look on her face. He shrugged apologetically and lied to her. "He's fine, Evey. Just terribly busy with a rash of Fingerman activity. He couldn't get away."

She shook her head, sighing softly. "Thanks, Dom, but we knew the real reason. It's alright, really. It was just too soon for him." She sighed. "Please tell me: is he doing well?"

Dom lowered his eyes to his glass, debating between honesty and Eric's ego. "He'd rather I tell you that he's fine," he said softly. "But he's…angry all the time, Evey. He's sharp with everyone now, not the easy-going bloke I've worked with for so long." He looked up hopefully. "Do you know why?"

Evey's gaze swung toward the brown-haired girl seated at a table with the elegantly beautiful brother. Clarissa's face was drawn and her brother had his arm around her, speaking softly into her ear. "Yes," Evey said slowly. "I think I know why."

"She did something to him again?" The bitter question surprised them both, causing Dom to flush hotly as Evey turned toward him in astonishment.

"Yes." Evey whispered, looking back at the girl. "More than that I cannot tell you, Dom. It wouldn't be right." She flinched suddenly, her hands pressing against the mound of her belly, and she laughed delightly in surprise. "It's kicking!" She caught up his hand and laid it over the tight fabric of her dress. "Feel here?"

The baby kicked sharply, making Dom's eyes widen at the sharp thump against his palm. "Evey, you need to put that one into football right off!" She caught his hand in hers, smiling at him affectionately.

"So," she said eagerly, leaning in close. "Tell me about this fiancée of yours…"


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hello from the Laptop of EnigmaSphinx! A long time has passed since I updated this tale and I hope that there are some of you who are reading it still. I have been working on this story since this time last year and I became very disillusioned with my own work, bogged down with the plot in several things on the hotseat, including this particular tale. You will notice that there has been a MAJOR overhaul of the plotline, some shuffling and reshuffling of the main points. There will also be a deeper plunge into the well of Angst so consider yourselves warned. Thank you for reading. I hope that the result proves worth the wait.

Disclaimers: I do not own the V universe. I wish I did but alas, I do not. I make nothing as a result of this venture, just little daydreams and odd flashbacks that overcome me at the most importunate moments... God love em!

**The Post-Nuptual Party**

Bachelors Only!

Some hours later

Dom opened the door to his office and paused on the threshold.

Eric Finch was still seated at his desk. The older man was very still, his face turned away from the door. The Inspector was staring out the window, his hand resting upon a stack of files, fingers loosely curled around a styrofoam cup. A strong sense of sorrow radiated from his motionless form, evident to the younger man who'd learned to read his partner's body language. Eric hadn't noticed the door opening and Dom stared at him, really seeing the weariness that emanated from the lines in his superior's face.

Embarrassed at realizing that the Inspector would be appalled that Dom had witnessed Eric's unguarded attitude, Dom turned his head away as he plunged inside the room, head down, and shut the door loudly behind him. When he turned to look at Eric, the older man was looking at him, his former air of sadness replaced by surprise.

"What are you doing here?" The gruff question held no real criticism.

Dom shrugged, giving his partner a grin. "Well, after getting back from the wedding as the Department Representative, I knew that I had the rest of the day off and came to find you." he said pointedly. "I went by your flat to see if you'd take some time to talk with me but you weren't there. I figured you were here at the office, stuck on something seeing that I wasn't here to help you so I came by to... unstick you." He grinned. "I knew you needed me," he teased, gesturing toward the cluttered desk.

Eric almost smiled. "Don't start getting an ego, Dom," he grumbled, focusing on the stacks of paper in front of him. Dom came around the desk to look over his shoulder at the papers on the desk.

"Hey," he said brightly. "Surely these can wait till tomorrow, Inspector. It's well past quitting time." He moved toward his own chair and flopped down in it. "Let's go and have a beer, Eric. What do you say? A few minutes at the pub, maybe have a round of billiards or darts. I've been practicing…"

"You'd need it," Eric said dryly, flicking the younger man a sardonic glance."Last time we played darts, I recall you got a bulls-eye on the waitress." He got to his feet as he spoke, a shadow flickering over his face at some connection that Dom couldn't begin to guess at. "Beer is fine, Dom. You can tell me about the wedding over a pint."

-

-

-

Dom had one beer to three of Eric's.

The Inspector was an experienced beer drinker while Dom didn't have a lot of enthusiasm for the beverage. The younger man was conservative with alcohol, choosing a light ale for himself, but Eric selected a stout, the beer dark in his glass, nearly as dark as his eyes. Dom settled onto the stool near Eric's and offered a toast.

"Another eligible man gone," he said. "In to the sacred stifling halls of matrimony."

Eric hesitated and then met the toast with a shrug and a raised glass before taking a thirsty swallow that emptied a third of his glass. Dom sipped at his own beer, wondering what he was going to tell Eric about the wedding without bringing up the painful subject of the Stephen's nephews and niece. Eric solved the question for him, lowering his glass and giving Dom a sidelong glance.

"Soon enough, I'll have to find someone to make that toast to you, Dom." he said gravely. Dom choked on his mouthful of beer, realizing the truth of the statement.

"Oh, good God," he groaned. "Don't remind me."

Eric chuckled. "Eh, lad, there are good things in a marriage," he offered encouragingly. "Don't let the formalities put you off of it."

Dom leaned against the bar. "Sometimes," he said softly. "I think about it and it seems perfect: the best of all possible worlds, Eric, because she'll always be there. Morning, noon and night. Then again. sometimes I think about the fact that she'll always be there, morning, noon, and night, and the thought terrifies me..."

Eric turned back his beer. "Two sides of a coin," he agreed, picking up his glass. "That's marriage." He drank more, nearly draining the glass. "I can tell you that it's worth the risk, because a good marriage can make a good man better than before."

"Oh?" Dom wondered if Eric was speaking from experience. It was common knowledge that Finch had been married a long time ago and that something tragic had happened. Not a divorce or an affair, but something terrible that had left Eric without family. Gossip among the older policemen whispered of a wife and child killed in senseless violence. Dom knew from experience that Finch had no end of compassion for the families of victims who were taken from them by tragedy, a quality that Dom hoped he himself would keep after as long on the force. It set Eric apart from the often jaded old-timers and Dom admired him for it. "Do you really think so?"

"I do," Eric said, lifting his glass. "Marriage is more than a ceremony, it's the day to day sharing your life with someone who accepts you for who you really are and shows you yourself as you can never see yourself in a mirror. They know the darkest places in you and they bring the light there so that you can't ever be lost in those places again." He tipped back the last of his beer, eyes closing for a moment. "It's more than love, Dom, more than passion. It's more than partnership. You toss everything you have into it and, if the other person does the same, it's the closest to heaven you can find on Earth." The barkeep put another beer in front of Eric and the older man accepted it with a thin smile. "Even if they don't do the same, it can still be pretty bloody good."

Dom contemplated his beer, mulling over Eric's comments for a moment, until Eric cleared his throat. "So," he said to the thoughtful young man. "Tell me about your day."

-

-

-

By the sixth beer, the Inspector was more than a little drunk, his temperament a little uncertain.

Dom had doled out tidbits about the wedding a few at a time, watching his friend for some sign that the man's iron reserve was no longer so solid. It came as the seventh beer was served. Eric contemplated the glass, suddenly somber, his face showing no emotion. Dom recognized the expression: Evey's "cop face".

"Was _she_ there?" Eric asked quietly.

"Who? Evey?"

"Not her," Eric growled without looking up. "Stephen's niece."

"Oh, her. Claudia, Clara, Clarice?" Dom asked in mock surprise, although his heart leaped at the question, pounding against his ribs. Eric's shoulders bowed slightly.

"Clarissa," he supplied tightly. "Yes. Was she there?"

"Yes, she was. Mousy little thing, surprisingly enough." Dom studied his own drink, not wanting to overplay his hand. "She was very quiet through the festivities and spoke little. All in all, a dull girl."

Eric's head swiveled toward him, his eyes bright with anger as he huffed a bitter laugh. "Not by half, my lad. There's not a dull place in that girl's soul. It's either bright or dark, no grays at all."

"She kept to herself the whole time," Dom said, shrugging as he lifted his pint. "Although it seemed as though someone was always tagging after her. I didn't know that Stephen had any other family but one of her two brothers or the little fellow with the big blue eyes was always near her. Someone seemed to be holding her hand all day long."

There was a long pause as the seventh beer was drained and replaced by the eighth. Eric picked up his new glass, staring into the depths of the beer. "Is she well?" he asked casually.

Eerily enough, the question was asked in exactly the same tone that Clarissa had used earlier, which unsettled the younger policeman. He mulled over the possible answers, debating over Eric's state and his uncanny ability to see through lies. "She was pale," he said thoughtfully. "And now that I think about it, she seemed too thin. The... brothers kept plying her with food but she ate very little. She had the saddest eyes I think I have ever seen."

Eric's shoulders hunched a little. "Sad, you say?" His tone was too casual to be natural but Dom ignored it.

"Her lips smiled, but her eyes never changed."

Eric said nothing, just pulled at his beer like a man dying of thirst. Dom watched him from the corner of his eye, noting that Eric's hand shook slightly as he lowered the glass. The younger policeman sighed before continuing.

"I had a few moments alone with her after the ceremony." Eric's body tightened at the news. Dom leaned upon his elbows, hunching over the bar. "I asked her a question then," he admitted quietly then shrugged, turning the pint glass on the bar, absorbed in the amber beverage. "I didn't think she'd answer but she did."

"What did you ask?"

"I blurted it out, I couldn't take it back…" Dom hesitated, his voice trailing off.

"What did you ask?" Eric's question was sharper. Dom stared at the bar.

"I asked her why she didn't pick me that day…."

"You did?" Eric turned to face him, his expression hard, his eyes burning.. "What did she say?" His tone was ragged, the words torn from him grudgingly.

"She said she would have broken me far too soon." Dom bowed his head. "She was right, of course. I thought about it on the drive home and she wasn't wrong. I would have broken. You didn't." He gave his superior a wan smile.

Eric turned back to his glass. "I broke," he said bitterly. "Just not soon enough." He knocked back half of the beer. "She broke me and she broke me to the bone." He laughed hollowly. "I'm almost sorry I didn't go just to look in her eyes, to see if she really…" He fell silent, sipping his beer. Dom reached over and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "She was with her brothers still?"

"One brother was pretty wrapped up in some blue eyed fellow. Too close for just friends. I guessed he was a homosexual but the way he was watching everyone made me feel...put off. The other brother is a huge scary bastard," he said, shuddering lightly.

The Inspector looked away. "Well, the pretty one was being held in some black bag facility until... recently. He probably watches because he's on guard still and not completely at ease among civilians. The blue eyed fellow is his current boyfriend, I suppose. The big one is just mean." He waved a hand carelessly. "They're triplets, you know."

"Really?" Dom sat up a little straighter, that fact weaving amidst the others in his head.. "Well, that might explain why they were so solicitous of her."

"Oh, she has everything she needs with them," Eric said bitterly. "Completely self-sufficient, our girl Clair. Relies upon no one except her brothers. The three of them, all for one and one for all and no room for anyone else."

"The big one threatened to break off my hand for touching his sister..."

Eric's head lifted, his face set in a grim mask. "You touched her?" he asked quietly. He was suddenly still, the expressionless mask back in place. Only his eyes burned, too conflicted for Dom to figure out what the dominant emotion was.

"I did," he answered his partner. "I had my hand on her arm and the big one threatened to break it off for me."

"You're lucky that all he threatened to do, lad." Eric drained his glass, his tension easing immediately. "I'm for home, Dom." He stood up unsteadily, one hand on the bar. "Thank you for going in my place."

Dom nodded, pleased that Eric seemed a little improved. Tossing a few notes on the bar, he joined his friend. "Let me see you home, Eric. The night's turned chill while we were drinking."

Eric made a soft sound. "Nights are never warm anymore," he sighed wistfully. "It's always cold at night now."

Dom had the sudden impression that Eric wasn't talking about the weather. He ushered his friend to the car and drove him home.

-

-

-

Clarissa sat in the arbor in the dark, feeling the chill settle over her skin with a detached sense of discomfort. She didn't want to leave the arbor. She sometimes felt closer to Eric here.

The arrival of the young policeman at the registrar's had dashed any hopes of seeing Eric again. He was still angry enough with her to avoid Evey's wedding. She bowed her head, tears gathering in her eyes. One hand dropped to her belly protectively.

The baby was still there and by her calculations, she was about three months gone. In another month, she'd begin to show and then it was a waiting game with the odds stacked high against success.

Evey's baby was due in about six weeks, the other woman's pregnancy proceeding well. Clarissa contemplated her plans. She wouldn't cost Evey her friendship with Eric and she'd arrange things with Stephen to be absent when Eric came to see the baby.

That was fair, wasn't it?

She rubbed her stomach lightly with her fingertips, the action soothing her more than it would the baby. "Daddy will love you, sweetie. It's Mummy he's angry with, not you. He'll be happy when you've grown enough to come out and play." Her voice trembled on the words and she felt the hot tears spill over her cold cheeks. She thought it was only fair that her heart hurt so much. It wouldn't make up for what she'd done but, if apologizing is never meaningless, then suffering had to count for something, didn't it? She shivered as the quickening breeze cut across her skin.

Ah, Eric, she thought miserably. It's always so cold without you.

When Caine sought her out an hour later, he found her asleep in the quiet garden, her skin icy from the night chill. Frowning, he gathered her in his arms and carried her upstairs before tucking her into bed fully dressed.

When he closed her door behind him, Bram waited on the landing, his brown eyes shadowed with concern. An unspoken understanding passed between them in the silence and they clasped hands in agreement. Caine went on to his room and Bram turned back to the bedroom he shared with Mim.

They would take Clair away from her memories here at Gallowsmere and force her to build a new life. If they didn't do it soon, she might never recover from her grief and that could not be allowed.

-

-

-

In his bed, Eric turned restlessly in his sleep.

In his dreams, Clarissa's fingers slipped into the hair at his temple, the soft tips combing through the strands to stroke his temple. He turned into her touch, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he found her smiling at him. Her eyes were warm and soft, full of his reflection, and he stared at them, mesmerized by her nearness. She leaned closer and the scent of her was welcome, intoxicating him more than the earlier beer had. Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth, tentative but indescribably tender. Eric dragged her closer, capturing her mouth to deepen the kiss.

The sweetness of her mouth on his brought his needs to life. Immediately he ached to possess her and he hauled her against his body, reveling in the primal sensation of her softness against him, her body yielding in all the right places as he wrapped his arms around her. She gasped as he pressed his hardness against her but there was nothing fearful in her eyes when he lifted his head to look down at her. "Eric," she breathed, fingers tightening in his hair. "I've missed you."

"You left me," he reminded her, torn when her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry... You know I love you, don't you?" She strained against him as she had the night he left her, just enough to make his body ache at the memory. "I'll do anything to fix this..."

He lowered his mouth to hers again, tasting her lips and suddenly realizing that the sweetness had turned salty. She clutched at his shoulders with one hand, the other in his hair as he poured his passion into the kiss. "I never meant to hurt you," he heard her say when he moved to kiss the slender column of her throat. "Please, Eric. Please."

Everywhere she touched him, he was warm again. After all this time, he hadn't realized how cold he had become without her, how bereft. His skin drank in the heat of her skin, the fire dancing in her blood calling to him, kindling the match of his desire for her and setting him ablaze. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, to devour her from the mouth down into the hidden places of her soul, to lose himself in the welcome warmth of her embrace... "I want you, bhean, I never want to be without you again." He prayed the words against the rapid pulse in her throat, breathed in the scent of her, and she laughed softly.

She was suddenly away from him, standing in the kitchen at Gallowsmere, dressed impeccably in her Fingerman clothes. "Have a little tea," she offered, the light in her eyes innocent. "You know I love you, don't you?"

Ice filled his hollow chest, the cold burning him more savagely than her touch had. He looked down and was horrified to see that his shirtfront was crimson with blood. The hilt of a knife protruded from his sternum, the hilt of one of V's knives, and Eric lifted his eyes to see Clarissa wiping blood off her fingertips with a cloth. She smiled brilliantly.

"It well in you now," she told him lightly. "And soon you'll drift to sleep..."

"Clarissa, what have you done?"

"I just took what you gave me," she answered as her brothers appeared behind her. Caine's brutal face was gleeful while Bram wrapped his arms around Clarissa's shoulders and rested his cheek upon the crown of her head. "You won't need it anymore, Eric, believe me." She sighed happily as she leaned back against Bram. "I'll always have the best of you now." She held up a hand and his heart rested in her cupped palm.

He staggered toward her but she and her brothers receded with such swiftness that he couldn't catch up to them. The light froze around him, the knife in his chest turned to ice and he tumbled forward onto his face...

To wake panting and sweating in his bed, the dawning light pale and vapid outside the windows of his flat. Eric crawled out of bed and made it to the bathroom, where he was promptly sick to his stomach.

-

-

-

Clarissa woke from her frightening, fitful dreams and rushed into her bathroom to heave miserably in the silent morning light. The violent retching made her head pound so viciously that she couldn't keep her eyes open.

A quiet movement from her bedroom made her lift her head in fearful alarm, seeking out the intruder. Evey appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. She said nothing but the expression in her eyes made Clarissa bury her face in her hands. Evey came to her side and wrapped her arms around her niece's shoulders silently.

At the gentle supportive touch, the dam holding Clarissa's tears in check gave way and she clung to Evey and wept.

.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: New Content. I hope y'all don't hate me for it.

Disclaimers: They don't belong to me. This is a labour of psychotic attachment, not a profit-producing venture. If they'd give us a decent sequel, with VEV goodness and a little happily ever after, I wouldn't feel this compulsive need to make more story. The owners of all things V are making me do this by denying me closure. Heh.

**The Estrogen Conspiracy**

Evey and Clarissa had gone to town, taking Mim along as company, and Stephen was occupied with putting together the most difficult contraption he'd ever attempted. He stared at the diagram in his hand then at the components scattered around him in easy reach, then back at the diagram. He'd seen the finished product, it was a brilliantly simple design, but he was damned confused by the step by step instructions.

A soft tap at the door interrupted his concentration. He looked up fiercely, still absorbed in the problem of the task in hand, and found Bram standing in the doorway. The young man offered him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry to bother you, Uncle Stephen," he said quietly. "But I was hoping to speak to you for a moment alone. If this is a bad time..."

Stephen shook his head. "Not at all, Bram," he said gratefully, setting aside the diagram and straightening. "I was ready to take a break." He smiled at his nephew. "What can I do for you?"

Bram returned the smile with only a small hesitation. "I would like you to kick us out, if you wouldn't mind."

Stephen blinked, the words not making any sense for a moment. "What?" he said, then shook his head. "Whyever would I do that, Bram?" Confused by the request, he studied the young man. "Why would you ask me that? Aren't you happy here?"

"Certainly I am," Bram said quickly. "Really, Uncle, I love being here. It's the only home I've had in years, but..." He trailed off, his smile fading into an intensely serious look. "I have to ask you to push us out, Stephen. It's the only way..." He faltered on the words and looked away to gather his thoughts. Stephen waited, not wanting to rush the lad but even more confused than before.

"It's Clair." Caine appeared behind Bram, his voice flat. Stephen looked at him and saw that Caine wasn't sporting his usual hostile attitude. Instead the burly man stepped into the room to stand at his brother's back, laying his hand on Bram's shoulder. "She needs to leave Gallowsmere, Stephen. Soon."

Stephen looked between them, frowning. "Clarissa needs family," he protested. "I've told her that she can stay here for as long as she wants to. Gallowsmere is the Avery home, Caine. You're Evelyn's children, this is your home as much as it is mine."

"We appreciate that, Uncle," Bram lifted his head and his eyes were bleak. "But Clair is never going to heal staying here. Every place here has memories of ...him. She has no peace here anymore and she's not getting better living in her memories."

Stephen considered the argument. He wanted to protect the girl and he thought that she needed to be wrapped in the safety of her family, in the familiar environs of the house that had sheltered her during her convalescence. She'd done so well the first time that he'd believed that the house would prove the trick to make her bloom again. He really contemplated the question of Clarissa's health and realized that the brothers were accurate about the situation.

Over the past few weeks, he'd seen Clarissa's condition wasn't improving. She was still entirely too subdued since Atherton's certain demise. The flare of desperate strength when she'd turned the tide of Atherton's plans had faded as though it had never been. Clarissa moved through the house and grounds silently, her laughter silenced, as she stayed curled around the possibility of the baby in her belly. She wasn't any happier or healthier than before.

"Where will you go?" he asked his nephews.

"I've been going to London these past few weeks," Caine said quietly. He wasn't gruff or angry as he said it, he sounded much like his brother at the moment. "I've located a few houses for let that would suit our needs. Rooms enough for all of us, and space enough that we won't be in one another's way." He regarded Stephen levelly. "There's even a garden or two, and extra room for...additions."

Stephen's eyebrows rose in silent question and Bram nodded.

"We know she's pregnant," he announced softly. "We've known since before Gra... Atherton returned."

"You know?"

Caine's lips twitched into a smirk. "We were separated, Stephen, but we aren't children anymore. We remember when Clair was... when it happened the last time. She...feels different." He shrugged. "If she wants this, we can support her. We can give the strength to move forward, whatever she chooses."

"She wants to carry it," Stephen said gravely. "It's her choice, I know, but Eric deserves to know. I don't think that she should keep it from him."

"She won't." Bram said and his voice was thick with worry.

"You've talked to her about it?"

"She has talked to Mim," Bram replied, looking away. "And Mim has talked to me. She plans on giving birth, Uncle. More than that, she isn't certain of." Caine's hand dropped from his brother's shoulder and he too turned away, as though this discussion was too close to the bone for him. "We may not agree on her arguments, but we can be what she needs. We can heal her heart and bring her back to life again."

He was confident, Stephen recognized that, but there was something that neither one was willing to say and that worried Stephen. "There more to that, then?"

"Yes," Caine said grimly. "But that's for Clair to discuss, isn't it?"

Stephen nodded. "Well, you'll understand if I tell you that I need to speak to Evey and to Mim before I decide, won't you?" He waited for them to answer, keeping his eyes on them. Bram nodded and the silent gesture was copied by Caine. "Very well, then, lads, let me think about it, won't you? This isn't something that needs done this afternoon, is it?"

Bram nodded. He looked at the pieces of Stephen's project, noticing the thinly organized chaos around the former Vigilante. "Unlike this," he noted wryly. "What are you trying to do?" He frowned. "What is this?"

Caine gave a derisive snort. "It's a crib," he said, shaking his head. "Even I can see that."

Stephen lifted a brow curiously. "It's a bloody mess," he agreed. "I can't make heads nor tails of the instructions and I can't quite figure out which piece is which."

Caine stepped past Stephen and swept up the instructions, glancing over them quickly. "This isn't quite so bad," he mused. "You don't need nearly any of these tools, Stephen." He picked up a screwdriver. "This will be handy enough for the job, really."

"Have you put one of these together?" Stephen asked, frowning.

"Not exactly," Caine said. "But I like to build things now and again." He shrugged, embarrassed. "It's good to work with your hands."

Stephen nodded. "Yes, it is," he agreed. "And often better than destroying things, although I expect

not as much fun as destroying something." He smiled at his often abrasive relative. "If I'd known that you were good with this sort of thing, I'd've had you doing the odd job here and there."

Caine grinned at him, the expression making him seem far younger than usual. "Well, I'm pretty good with some things," he agreed. "But I like my free time." He glanced at Bram. "Lend a hand, pretty boy, and let's get this finished before Clair gets home."

-

-

-

Later that evening, Stephen sat with Evey on their bed, his arm around his wife. She lay drowsing against his chest, her tousled brown hair tickling his nose.

"Penny for them," she said softly. Stephen startled at the comment, his arms tightening about her.

"Sorry, dearest," he apologized. "I was just thinking..."

"Loudly," she scolded. "just tell me what has you thinking so hard."

He shifted uncomfortably. "The boys came to me today."

"Oh?"

"Yes." He sighed. "They want me to evict them all, Evey."

She didn't move, just rested against him, and he knew that she wasn't surprised. "What have I missed?" he asked her.

"They are worried about Clarissa," she answered.

"Granted. Have they spoken to you about it?"

"They haven't had to." Evey sighed, wriggling closer. "She's not doing well, Stephen. She's miserable and the pregnancy isn't an easy one, more so because of the difficulties." The quiet thickened around them again, full of things unsaid. Finally Stephen hugged her tightly.

"Do you think that they'll be alright on their own?"

The wistful quality of the question moved her more than all his self-confidence in the face of certain death. Evey wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. The fearless V in all his glory did not compare to the reality of the man she shared this bed with, whose child grew in her womb and whose spirit made her complete. Always he was certain of his actions, made decisions based upon a moment's contemplation of dire odds and dangers and came away with victory for his cause yet...now he needed to know that he was making the right decision for his brother's children and that they would be well despite the terrible risks to their hearts. To one heart in particular, that Stephen had tried so hard to heal and protect. She kissed his thick black curls and buried her face into his neck.

"They will be fine," she promised. "The boys will take care of Clarissa until she's healed. Have faith, Stephen, they are Averys, aren't they?"

He nodded silently and she felt his hand seek out their child's hiding place. His fingers touched the sheltering flesh and she felt them tremble, knowing that he was torn and loving him more for the compassion that warred with his common sense. After a long moment, he caught her closer still and lowered his mouth to hers. She gave him everything she had in that kiss and he murmured to her in the quiet of their room, words of love and adoration culled from years of reading and the little eternity of loving her.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Hello, everyone. Are we going well so far? I hope this tale agrees with you, we really do aim to please our readers. We hope to go out with a bang in the tale of the Averys. You'll see. --edited 05/11/08... corrected for seamlessness, removal of errors, and readability. Hope you like the results. ES

Disclaimer: V for Vendetta is by far my favorite movie in a long time. Unfortunately I don't own the rights to the characters portrayed therein or in the GN of the same name. I take great liberties with the characters however and I hope that none of the proper authorities take notice. Unless it's Finch. He can arrest me. I'll surrender, even. LOL

**Time Is On My Side (Not!)**

Evey didn't have her baby in six weeks. She had it in eight.

During those last two weeks, Stephen slept half-dressed, his preternatural senses alert to the faintest noise or movement from the woman beside him in his bed. He got very little sleep as a result, dampening his usual good mood and turning him into a terrible grouch. The occupants of Gallowsmere tiptoed around him; even Caine backed away from any sort of confrontation. Stephen was walking an emotional tightrope, his green eyes darkening day by day, full of exhaustion and anxiety.

One bright morning, Clarissa took Stephen aside as he came down to breakfast. He scowled irritably but she merely smiled gently up at him, putting her hand lightly over his heart. He noticed the shadows under her eyes, the sorrow under her smile and his heart twisted at the grief that dimmed her inner light.

"Uncle Stephen," she said in a small hesitant voice. "Do you still love me?"

He laid his hand over hers, instantly contrite. "Of course, I do, sweetheart," he assured her, suddenly worried about her. She nodded, her smile widening.

"Good. Now go back upstairs and get in bed."

"What?" Stephen's frown returned but Clarissa shook her head.

"No arguments, Uncle Stephen. All four of us will watch over Evey today until you've had a bit more sleep." She nudged him back toward the stairs, ignoring his strangled protests. "Go on. You've been a right bastard for a week and a half because you've had no sleep. Today, you are going to get some or we'll have to do something drastic." She patted his shoulder as she urged him on. "You don't want us conspiring against you, do you?"

His eyes widened in dismay at the thought. "No." She smiled at him sweetly, letting him draw his own conclusions. Stephen hesitated. "You'll wake me…"

"At the very first hint of a contraction, Uncle. We all know the drill by heart. You sleep now and if you're very good, perhaps we'll have cake after supper."

"You're treating me like a two year old," he groused. Clarissa nodded.

"And you've been just that bratty," she informed him crisply. "Upstairs and sleep. When you've rested a bit, you can come back down."

He sulked for a moment going up the stairs before her. She ushered him into his room before closing the door behind him. Stephen dutifully went to the bed, intending to rise and return downstairs after a few minutes. Unfortunately, the moment he laid down, his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

Clarissa went back into the kitchen, offering Evey a rare smile. "He'll be out for a bit," she said. "He was reasonable enough."

Evey sighed, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Thank God," she muttered. "He was driving me mad! If I turned over, he'd sit bolt upright, feeling my belly for contractions. He wouldn't let me get any sleep with his paranoia, Clarissa."

"Well, you can take a nap in my room." Clarissa assured her aunt, grinning. "If you need us, you merely need to call out. No one's going into the wood or farther than the garden today." She gestured. "You go get some sleep as well. I'm going to make some breakfast and tea for the boys, and then I intend to do some reading." She smiled faintly. "A quiet day seems just the thing."

It was a plan doomed to failure.

By early afternoon, Evey was back downstairs. She had one hand pressed to her spine. "Clarissa, I can't sleep," she complained irritably. "Your bed's too soft, makes my back hurt."

Clarissa glanced toward her brothers outside the window, knowing they would sense her concern. She watched them gravitating back to the house for a moment then turned back to Evey. "Evey, is it steady?"

Evey frowned. "It keeps twingeing," she said. "Off and on." Clarissa nodded.

"Sit down a moment, won't you?" When Caine entered the room, Bram at his shoulder, she took Caine's hand. "You come with me. Bram, keep Evey company please." She dragged Caine upstairs, quietly urgent until he pulled her to a halt on the landing.

"What is it?" he asked, glaring down at her. She heaved a sigh.

"We need to wake up Stephen, Caine. Evey's in labor." Caine's eyes took on a slightly panicked look and Clarissa frowned. "Don't be such a baby," she scolded. "This sort of thing happens all the time."

She led him to Stephen's room and rapped sharply upon the door. There was no answer. She eased the door open, her face averted. "Caine, please tell me he's still dressed."

Caine looked in, nodded. "Yes, he is," he said. "But he looks out for the count, Clair."

She stepped into the room warily, Caine following. Stephen was burrowed into his pillow, his body sprawled limply upon the coverlet. Clair called to him. He muttered, digging his head deeper into the pillow. She pondered her next move and Caine shook his head at her.

"Just give him a shake."

With a disbelieving look, Clarissa waved at the prone figure on the bed. "Caine, if you were that asleep and someone just shook you, what would happen?" He grunted.

"I'd rip their arm…oh."

"Exactly. He's years more guarded than you, you know. I want you here for protection. I have to wake him and insure he's lucid enough to manage Evey. I am certainly not risking life and limb to do it." She mulled over the problem before her.

"Stephen?" she called again softly. "Uncle Stephen?"

The man in the bed rolled over fitfully, flinging one arm over his eyes. "I've brought you a rose…" he muttered darkly. Clarissa rolled her eyes and stepped far back from the bedside.

"Remember, remember the fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot!" she shouted. Stephen sat up, wild-eyed. He lunged toward Clarissa who cried out "Caine, now!"

The big man intercepted his uncle in mid-leap and they crashed to the floor together. Clarissa skipped back from the writhing lump, watching anxiously as they wrestled. "Uncle Stephen!" she shouted. "Stop hitting Caine and wake the fuck up!"

The furious movement on the floor suddenly came to a halt as Stephen stared at his nephew, seeing the gleam in Caine's eyes that signaled he was having fun. "Caine?" he said in bewilderment. His head lifted to Clarissa. "Sweetheart? Is something wrong?"

"If you don't want Mim delivering your firstborn on the kitchen table, then you'd best get yourself together, Uncle Stephen. Evey's in labor." Clarissa turned toward the door. "We've boiled the water and gotten all the towels together but if you don't get your shoes on, you're going to miss the whole delivery event." She vanished from the room.

Stephen rolled off his nephew and rummaged for his shoes. Caine sat up and watched him silently. Stephen pulled on one shoe then lifted his head. "Did she just say Mim was going…" he asked in horror. Caine nodded.

"That is what she said." He got to his feet. "That was quite fun, Uncle," he remarked, dusting off his trousers. "Love to match you when you've rested up a bit."

Stephen dragged on his other shoe and followed Caine down to the kitchen. Evey was leaning against the table, her face grey as Bram held her hand. He looked up, smiling as he held up a warning finger. When Evey suddenly exhaled, Bram's smile widened.

"They are coming about ten minutes apart," he announced. "Should be plenty of time to get to hospital."

Stephen nodded, thinking furiously with a brain half-scrambled by lack of sleep. "I'll get the valise," he said. "And put it in the car while Evey gets in the boot. Then we'll go straight to the hospital." He rummaged in his pockets. "Where are the bloody keys?"

Clarissa shook her head. "I'm driving," she declared. "Caine, will you move Evey to the car? Bram, pop upstairs and get her things, will you? I forgot to bring them down with me." She turned to Mim. "You'll need to make phone calls, love. The news will come better from you than anyone else." The slender therapist nodded and took the phone list from the refrigerator. Clarissa grabbed the keys and headed for the car, Stephen following with Caine who carried Evey carefully to the car. When Bram had joined them, dropping the valise into the boot and shutting it, the triplets loaded into the car and they headed out.

-

-

-

Evey was in labor for a long time.

All in all, her labor lasted some forty-eight hours and she was kept in a labor and delivery room for much of it. The triplets cooled their heels in the waiting room with Mim.

Clarissa fretted but kept it hidden under restless action. After a few hours, she was still pacing, her expression closed off, eyes muddy with exhaustion as she made her rounds of the waiting room.

Mim noticed as she caressed her belly when no one else was looking and knowing that the girl was full of dark contemplation. He worried over her still. They weren't really therapist and patient anymore but he hadn't spent months with her only to turn aside when his lover had been recovered. Clarissa's wellbeing meant too much to him. His attention drew Bram's and the beautiful triplet realized that Clarissa was wearing herself out with worry. He signaled Caine, an unspoken exchange passing between them in a flash before Caine nodded and got to his feet.

Caine interrupted his sister's steady passage by standing in her way and glaring down at her. "Come sit down." he ordered.

The command made Clarissa scowl. "I don't want to sit down." She tried to move past him but Caine blocked her again.

"I know you don't," he pointed out. "But you'll do it anyway." She stared up at him for a long moment, seeing his determination and recognizing it for the larger obstacle than his body was. She nodded finally, letting him lead her to a seat. He sat beside her, drawing him against his chest. "I'm here, Clair," he told her softly, tucking an arm around her. "I'll keep watch now." She didn't speak, simply nodded again and closed her eyes.

An hour later, she jolted awake, wild-eyed with nightmares, and bolted off her chair. Caine scowled after her but she shook her head at him. "Enough," she said sharply. "I need to be up and about." One hand curled over the baby hidden inside her as she began pacing again.

-

-

-

In the LDR, the parents to be worked through contraction after contraction. Evey fluctuated between cranky and tearful, Stephen holding her hand through it all. After hours of labor, the cervix had dilated to the proper circumference and the process settled down to an earnest pace and kept at it.

At last, two days after the announcement of Evey's "backache", a pink and healthy baby emerged into the world. The moment Stephen laid eyes on the wriggling, wailing scrap of humanity, he fell in love for the second time in his life. The midwife lifted up the protesting infant and presented it to Evey's weary view.

"You have a healthy baby girl," she declared proudly. Evey started to cry and Stephen was invited to cut the umbilical cord. When the baby was cleaned and swaddled, they let Evey hold her. Stephen leaned over them both, wrapping his arms around mother and daughter.

"I love you, Evey," he said happily, tears in his eyes as he clung to the two beings who held his whole heart in their small hands. "This is the greatest day of my life."

She laughed, a sound that ended with something very like a sob. "I know you were all for wanting a boy," she said. "You might have to wait a bit to try again." He pressed a kiss against her brow.

"I'm overjoyed with what I have, darling Eve. I'm not looking for more."

A bit later, he went out to the triplets and Mim. One look at his face and Clarissa sank gratefully into a chair, her face white as a sheet. "Oh, thank God," she whispered. Mim went to her, putting his arm around her slim shoulders. Bram and Caine looked at their uncle expectantly.

"Well, what will you name him?" Caine asked. Stephen smiled.

"Vanessa Erica Valerie," he announced. Caine frowned.

"He'll need to learn to fight with a name like that," he scoffed. Bram punched him in the shoulder sharply. Caine scowled at his brother, rubbing the spot irritably. "Well, he will," he protested. "It's a sissy name."

Clarissa sighed. "Caine, it's not a boy."

Caine hesitated, glancing at his brother and the man sitting with Clair. Mim smiled at him. "Oh," the big man said in obvious disappointment. "It's another pouf?" He shook his head. "You can tell that? So soon?"

Clarissa tried hard not to laugh. "Caine, it's a girl. A girl. Stephen and Evey had a daughter."

Bram snorted. "He'd never know the difference," he pointed out. "Caine's never seen a girl naked."

Caine flicked his brother a filthy look. "Like you have?" he asked skeptically. Bram opened his mouth then closed it again.

"You have a point," he conceded grudgingly. Clarissa got to her feet and went to Stephen, wrapping her arms around him.

"Congratulations, Uncle Stephen. I'm so happy for you both."

He hugged her back, feeling the press of her tummy against him.

Clair was just beginning to show, the baby's presence growing day by day. It was already obvious to him that she was expecting, to anyone who knew her. It would not be long before she was in the same place Evey was. Stephen's heart trembled, knowing that his friend in London had no idea he was to be a father soon, that Clarissa hadn't told him. He pulled back far enough to look down at his niece with a smile. "Mim has to make the calls." She nodded as she looked away.

"I know. I won't be here when he gets here."

"He may not come…"

"Mim can be very persuasive." Clarissa stepped back. "Worry about Evey and your daughter, Stephen. I'm fine."

He wanted to tell her she wasn't but he couldn't. She smiled up at him confidently but her eyes were full of shadows and secrets and sadness. He settled for pulling her along with him.

"Come and see your cousin," he said. "You knew about her first and you should get the first look at her."

-

-

-


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: Reminding you that we love angst and this is fantabulous. Refer to previous notes if this isn't the story you recall, we're cleaning house and employing everyone to help.

Disclaimers: I don't possess the stuff of dreams. I play with it in the silence and emptiness of a sequel-less universe, wishing for closure and finding only questions. I make nothing from this venture, all glory belongs to the owners of the V-verse.

Confrontations

Later:

Clarissa was kept by Evey longer than she'd expected.

Nearly an hour had elapsed since Stephen broke the news and Clarissa hadn't planned to be in the hospital after the phone calls were made. She stepped back into the waiting room and looked at Mim. "Is he coming?"

"I called right after you went inside." Mim's eyes were wider than usual. "He said he was coming straightaway."

Clarissa groaned silently and turned to Caine. "Give me your coat," she demanded, tugging at the lapel. "Please, Caine, hurry."

He slipped off the leather coat and hung it over her shoulders. With her slender build, the coat engulfed her from shoulder to hip. It had no real shape on her, but it hid her entire torso from view. Even if Eric saw her, he wouldn't see anything incriminating. "Perfect," she said with relief. "Why don't you walk me to the carpark, Caine? I have some things to get from Gallowsmere for Evey and it shouldn't take me long to fetch them."

Caine put his arm around his sister's shoulders and walked with her toward the door. As they stepped outside, Caine asked her "Will you be alright or shall I come with you?" He bent his head to hers as he spoke, his eyes blinking in the bright afternoon sun.

Clarissa also winced at the bright light, having grown accustomed to the weaker fluorescent lighting inside. When her vision cleared, she was horrified to see that she was standing only two feet away from Eric. The Inspector stood still, staring at her, his face set in stone, his expression without emotion. Next to him, the younger policeman was transfixed, looking almost horrified at the sight of Clarissa with her brother.

Caine's head lifted, his body tightening as Eric stared at Clarissa. "Something wrong, cop?" he asked aggressively. Clarissa's heart plummeted to her toes at the venomous look Eric gave her brother.

"Not yet," Eric said, the words a silky challenge. His gaze swung back to Clarissa. "Are they always attached to you now? You don't go anywhere without one of them?"

She lifted her head proudly, stung by his words. "Caine is my brother, Eric," she said sharply. "I apologize for his lack of manners, but he has every right to see me to my car."

Eric's eyes changed suddenly, the anger leaching out of them a little. The merest hint of something else replaced his fury as he looked her over. "You look well," he mused quietly, his voice soft. "You've slimmed some, although I hardly think you needed it."

She blushed under his stare and fought against the urge to lower her gaze. "One can never be too slim." She felt defensive and it made her tremble because she wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. Her fingers flexed under the jacket's cover. One step and she'd be in his arms…

The terrible longing washed over her; the need to touch him, to lay her hand upon his heart and feel the familiar skip at her touch. She didn't have the right to feel this way. He'd told her how he felt, hadn't he, when he left? She couldn't reach out to him, not when he'd all but told her that he never wanted to see her again, never wanted to touch her again. Her right to do anything to him had been revoked when he fled her bed and went back to London. She swallowed against the bitterness of that thought and wondered why he was standing there, staring at her. The knowledge came a moment later, bringing no relief.

She was keeping him from the real reason he'd come so far, blocking the entrance to the hospital.

Eric studied her face, watching as the pale features grew whiter by the moment. Whatever she was thinking, the expression on her face was full of unhappiness. She wasn't pleased to see him, that was obvious, and she stared at him with her great big brown eyes full of conflict and pain He hated that he cared about her feelings, that she could still pull him closer by manipulating his reactions to her and he was forced to resist his natural inclinations against his raw desires. He wanted to step forward and punch her brother in the nose then drag her off somewhere and shag her silly. Wanted to wipe the shadow from her eyes, fill her with light and laughter again. Wanted her to say his name in that same soft breathy voice that meant she was his...Oh, God, he wanted her still, damn her (damn him!), even knowing what she was capable of.

The memory of that last night in his bed at Gallowsmere loomed large in his heart, nearly eclipsing the drugged tea and his helplessness as he waited for her to return. He remembered her body in savage detail: how she arched under his hands, the sounds she made when he ran his fingers over her sensitive breasts, the way she said his name as she reached her peak and shattered in his arms. She stood so near he could smell the scent of her hair and he fought himself to keep from reaching out by hanging onto his pride.

She had wronged him; she had to make the first move. If she reached toward him, he'd meet her halfway; he'd never be able to refuse her. Damnit, he still loved her, the stupid girl couldn't see that? She couldn't figure out how to end this detente?

Caine took hold of Clarissa's shoulders though the jacket. "C'mon, Clair," he said sharply. "You wanted to go back home, remember?" She startled at his voice, her eyes widening with a stricken look that brought Eric's instincts to the fore.

"Let her make her own choices," he growled at Caine. "I thought you said she was the brains of your threesome?"

"What's it to you, Inspector?" Caine sneered. "You left her, didn't ya? Hared off to London and left our Clair behind. You had your fun; fucked her and fucked off, didn't ya?" Clarissa gasped at the accusation, her heart pounding. Caine turned to her in puzzlement. "Face facts, Love: months without word, without even a letter or a phone call… Did you think he still remembers you? That he hasn't got another bird in his bed who takes all his time now?"

Eric heard Dom's quick gasp but his attention was on Clarissa's face and the quick tell-tale flush of her distress rising on her cheeks. She looked up at Caine silently and he could see that she wanted him to stop talking almost as much as Eric wanted him to. She looked slapped, the anguish shining on her face so brightly that Eric was blinded to everything else in the world, captivated by the hurt and horror in Clarissa's eyes. He willed her to look at him, to challenge him so that he could see her pain and know that she still felt something, anything, for him.

Clarissa couldn't look at Eric, just stared at Caine in numb horror. Caine's accusations were so cruel that she couldn't even think. She spun, her mind full of the horrible things Caine had said, and raced for her car, escaping the emotional conflict behind her.

Eric watched Clarissa race away and his heart keened again at the loss of her.

Rage boiled up inside him and, without thinking, he cocked his fist and drove it savagely into Caine's face. The bigger man staggered backwards for a moment then his hand reached out and gripped Eric's shirtfront. He smiled wickedly as he drew back his own enormous fist.

"My turn now," he gloated and Eric braced himself for the inevitable pain that gesture signaled.

The promised blow did not come.

Bram suddenly stood behind his hulking brother, his hand locked around Caine's wrist. The taller, graceful brother had hold of the massive forearm, his almost delicate body tensed with the effort of holding it back.

"Caine, please go back inside." He spoke softly but the words were firm. Caine hesitated then dropped the promised punch to stalk silently back inside the hospital. Dom let out a shuddering sigh of relief. Bram studied Eric silently for a moment with eyes that were too much like Clarissa's.

"Thank you," Eric said reluctantly. The young man shook his head.

"I did it for him, the stupid bastard." He tucked his hands into his pockets, managing to look careless despite the unhappiness in his eyes. "It's quite tempting to let him at you, you know. If you cannot commit to all that Clair is, do us all a huge favor, won't you? Make it a resolution that you will leave her alone. Let her have a little peace at least."

"Why should she have it?" Eric snapped. "She wronged me."

"If you'd loved her as you claimed to, you would have understood what she did and why." Bram stepped aside. "Remember that you walked away from her, Mr. Finch. If you are still looking to parcel out blame, you didn't love her nearly as much as she thought you did." He gestured to the door behind him. "Stephen and Evey want to see you."

Eric and Dominic went inside.

Stephen greeted them in the hall outside Evey's room, his face glowing with happiness. Eric swallowed the bitter taste of losing Clarissa again and the anger from confronting the girl's brothers, pasting a bright smile over his unhappiness while he visited with the proud parents. Dom said nothing about the unpleasantness that had happened only moments before they'd entered the room, grinning at Stephen and Evey, admiring the baby and making small talk. Eric emulated his partner, making comments when and where appropriate but his thoughts were on the shocked look that had crossed Clarissa's face before she fled.

He fought against his instincts. He wanted nothing more than to get back in the car and chase her down. She would retreat to the playroom out in the stables or farther out, in the woods... He knew he would find her easily but his pride was stung, his regrets too close. They were apart now, well and truly finished. He should let sleeping dogs lie, shouldn't he? Just let it go...

"Eric?"

He startled at the sound of his name, looked up to find Stephen studying him quietly. "Sorry, Stephen," he mumbled. "Just thinking about a case."

Stephen nodded. "You work too hard, my friend," he scolded without anger. "You should take it easier than you have been." He looked back at his wife and the warmth of his smile made Eric's heart pulse sharply with regret. Stephen looked at Evey the way Eric felt about Clarissa and the loss of that warmth was too vivid to ignore.

"You're still family, you know, and we worry about you." Evey's declaration made Eric's throat tighten, it was full of sincerity and affection. He gave her a quick smile.

"And I feel the same about you, Evey."

"Family is more than blood," Stephen agreed. "And friends are the family that one chooses for oneself, I believe."

Eric nodded and looked away, missing the silent exchange of meaningful glances that passed from Dom to Evey then to Stephen. It was fast and by the time he looked up again, the other three were paying attention to the baby in Evey's arms. Eric pasted on a smile and participated more actively in admiring the youngest Avery until it was time to leave.

When the policemen came out of the room again, there was no sign of the brothers or of Mim. For a moment, Eric hesitated, looking around the empty waiting room for a long moment before tossing Dominic the keys.

"You drive," he said gruffly, ignoring his partner's surprised expression.

He settled silently into the passenger seat and stared stiffly out the window, trying to ignore the ache in his heart that pulled him toward a certain young miss with eyes like bittersweet.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Another chapter of new content... devious machinations abound.

Disclaimer: don't own em. If I did I'd be rich beyond my wildest dreams, because EVERYONE loves this tale. Eh, I make nothing from this venture, just a sense of childlike pleasure...

Another Wedding

The meeting was held in secret.

Evey entered the kitchen, smoothing back her rumpled hair and giving her husband a grin. "Baby's asleep," she announced proudly. "Did I miss anything?"

Stephen rose at once and pulled out a chair for her, seating her carefully. "Not at all, my dearest." He glanced at their visitor. "We were just having a beer while we waited."

Evey leaned back and nodded. "Good," she said. "I didn't want to have to ask you to repeat everything." Her smile was unrepentant.

The visitor lifted his glass in a toast. "But you would have anyway," he said cheekily, earning a wider smile from the woman.

"Of course." She sighed. "I hate not knowing exactly what is going on." Stephen chuckled as he set a warm teapot before her and his voice was quiet when he spoke.

"You'll have to do better this time," he teased. "I fear that the last time I had you assist me with plans of this complexity, you ended up wrecking your own cover, Evey. If you are going to participate in this venture, it won't do to have you spilling the story before we reach the crisis point. On the plus side, there's no special costume..." His smile turned vaguely lascivious. "Although you did look fetching as a naughty schoolgirl."

Evey blushed as she poured her tea. "Stop it," she scolded. "Tell me what we have so far..."

"As m'lady wishes," Stephen conceded. He gestured to the man at the end of the table. "Fill her in, won't you?"

Dominic cleared his throat nervously. "Well, my wedding is in 10 days, and Eric is confirmed, of course." He shrugged. "That's as far as we've gotten."

"How's Eric?"

"Withdrawn." The young policeman fidgeted with his glass. "Still angry, still sharp, still pushing himself far too hard..." He shook his head. "Evey, I respect Eric, he's a great man to work for, but I hate the fact that he's hurting and I hoped that you both might have some ideas for helping him."

"He needs to mend things with Clarissa," she told him sadly. "He was so happy before..." She glanced at Stephen who nodded.

"I agree." The former vigilante folded his hands on the table. "Time's running out, Evey, and nothing's resolved."

Dom frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply. "Why is time running out? For whom? What do you know?"

Evey shook her head at him. "Nothing, Dom." She picked up a biscuit from the tray on the table, turning it over and over in her hands. "Believe me when I tell you that this is nothing you want to know. Eric will be furious if he realizes that we are plotting around him and it would be beyond awkward if he realizes that you were in on it."

"Where is..."Dom cleared his throat and tried again. "Where are the others?"

"They moved into their own digs," Stephen said gravely. "Gallowsmere and the surrounding areas didn't offer any real career choices for them. They've set up house in London and are doing well."

"London?"

Evey put down the biscuit in her hands. "That's not the important part, Dom," she said softly. "But let us worry about them. Right now, Eric is the focal point of our little meeting." She smiled at her husband. "What do you have in mind, Stephen?"

Stephen nodded at her then turned his attention to Dominic. "Here is what I was thinking," he said cheerfully. and proceeded to outline his plans.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Notes: Grinning at our audience, we would like to remind you that this fic is classified Angst for a valid reason. Everything will get darker and darker before it gets better. We do feel as though we must remind you that we believe in happy endings. You may doubt it, but it's true. --edited 05/11/08 . for readability, errors, and storyline. ES

Disclaimer: The V-verse is OURS….in our dreams. We own nothing and no one who lives in the land of V, either Movie or GN. We are merely borrowing them for our own devious designs.

**The Sticking Point**

Seventeen days later:

Eric Finch sat at his desk, a stack of files before him, eyes turned toward the window in a rather recently acquired habit.

He might have been puzzling over the details of one of the case files before him, trying to get a fresh perspective on the recent build-up of Fingerman activity in London. He might have been counting windows in the building across the street and trying to determine the square footage of the structure. He might even have been thinking about Dom, whose wedding he'd attended a week ago.

He wasn't doing any of those things. Instead he was mooning over a pair of chocolate eyes set in a face that still haunted his dreams.

In point of fact, Dom's wedding had been lovely; Dom and his fiancée were resplendent in their formal clothes, faces shining with happiness. The ceremony went off flawlessly. The reception was full of laughter and music and hope. Eric noticed the familiar faces in the crowd at once, all three of the Averys brilliant with joy, and he gravitated toward them despite his reservations.

The newlywed Stephen and Evey had arrived to the wedding, carrying the little five month old Vanessa, bubbling with enthusiasm. Eric had been astonished at how big the baby was, how alertly she looked around. He remembered his son with a sort of familiar longing as he watched Stephen talk to his baby daughter, but the memories were no longer as painful as they had been. Evey glowed with happiness, her smile tender as she left them alone for a little while. Eric stood with Stephen for a time, chatting companionably over the baby, before Evey returned and dragged the policeman onto the floor for a dance.

Holding his friend's wife awkwardly, Eric felt guilty dancing with Evey. Not because Stephen was watching but because he felt as though his arms were meant for one woman only and that wasn't the slender form of Stephen's wife. Evey smiled and chatted with him carelessly as though she didn't notice his discomfort.

"It's so good to see you, Eric," she said at last, smiling sincerely. Eric mumbled an embarrassed thank you. Evey laughed at him. "We'll see each other rather frequently now, though," she continued. "Since we'll be in town more often..."

Eric tilted his head at the statement. "Really?" he asked. Evey colored faintly.

"I'm sorry," she said, glancing away. "We intend to spend a few weekends in London every month or two, so that the children aren't completely alone."

It didn't take him long to realize who she meant. Clarissa was always in his thoughts and he grasped the hint quickly. "Oh? Are they in London, then?" he asked her casually.

"I wasn't supposed to mention it," she confessed, glancing toward Stephen and her daughter. "I'm sorry, Eric. Please don't tell Stephen I let it slip."

"Is he protecting them?" Eric heard the sharp note in his own voice and winced but Evey's fingers tightened on his shoulder.

"No, Eric," she whispered. "He didn't want you to know because he didn't want you hurt. Neither of us do." The slightly chiding note made Eric feel ashamed of his bitterness and silence fell between them for a few moments. Finally Eric cleared his throat.

"Are they in Stephen's old flat now?"He lifted his eyes to Evey's, forcing himself to smile. "I can't imagine that they went to the other place after all that happened there."

"Heavens no," Evey exclaimed with a shudder. She mentioned a section of town that had been extensively renewed, slightly historical but popular among the young and upwardly mobile. Eric nodded, thinking that the triplets were living quite close by indeed. Evey continued on, oblivious to his sudden silence. "Their interests are varied, too varied for small town life, and they are quite enjoying themselves in the city. They've found employment and have begun new lives."

"Oh? What sort of employment?"

"Mim's gone back to work as a therapist in a public clinic, Bram is working for an art gallery. Caine has even gotten a job as a bouncer at a club whilst working at a garage part time. Clarissa..." She faltered on the name but Eric merely nodded. "Clarissa is working as a file clerk in a law office, something to do with real estate, I believe."She focused on him worriedly. "They don't want to call attention to themselves, Eric, there are still fingermen in London who would remember them."

He nodded. The fingermen were still a problem in London, even after Atherton's demise, they were constantly causing trouble despite the concerted efforts of the constabulary to root them all out. "If Stephen needs help protecting them," he heard himself say. "I will be closer than he will be at Gallowsmere..."

The music came to a halt as Evey hugged him silently. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. "You're a good man, Eric. Don't ever doubt that we love you and want the best for you." When she drew back, he saw the terrible gratitude in her eyes and was humbled by it. "That's very generous of you."

Eric hadn't known what to say after that. The offer had come instinctively, automatically springing from the portion of his heart that was bound to the Averys' lives. He escorted Evey from the floor and back to Stephen's side. He left them watching the next dance to go and stand by the bar alone, nursing a whiskey and thinking about Clarissa again.

She was nearby, he realized, and the knowledge wrapped his heart in a terrible mix of joy and pain. She was in his city, somewhere close by, minutes away... The thought was sweet and yet bitter at the same time for the gulf between them was wider and deeper that the Atlantic Ocean and just as cold, just as daunting.

Now he sat in his office, staring blindly out the window and wondering how he could find out exactly where the younger Averys were living without committing himself to something he wasn't certain of.

She is close, he thought to himself, minutes away from him at this very moment, but he couldn't bring himself to seek her out. He had enough connections that he could have located the triplets easily, but he was still angry with Clarissa and it didn't make sense to find her just to revisit the pain of leaving her again.

The idea was ludicrous.

Even if he knew where they were, how would he catch sight of Clarissa without making a complete fool of himself?

Eric just wanted to see her again, to reassure himself that she was well and enjoying her new life. He needed to see her for his own sake, he thought again. Just see her or speak to her or, better still, just touch her... The realization shook him and he muffled a rough curse. Pride was a lonely companion after the warmth of Clarissa's body, of her generous affections. He still missed her fiercely. He gritted his teeth against a freshet of pain.

When had she become so much a part of him?

He missed her the way an amputee missed their lost limb, with shadow pains that came at the worst possible moment.

The intercom buzzed. Eric reached out and swatted it irritably. "What is it?"

"There are some men here to see you, Inspector."

"Do they have an appointment?"

"No, sir," the receptionist replied. "But your next appointment called to cancel a few minutes ago."

He frowned. "Very well, send them in." He tidied the pile before him as the door opened. When it closed, he looked up expectantly then his chin dropped in shock.

"What the hell do you want?"

Bram Avery stood in his office, dressed in a casual suit, his long black hair tied neatly back from his all too handsome face. The young man smiled coolly, plucking a pair of sunglasses from his nose and folding them before tucking them in his breast pocket.. "So nice to see you again, Inspector." He made an effort to curb the sarcastic edge of his voice but didn't quite succeed. "We've come to collect you."

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Eric got to his feet angrily. "You've no business with me. Leave my office. Now."

Bram didn't flinch from his anger, in fact he smiled wider. Behind him, Caine blocked the door silently as Mim waited quietly behind his lover. The therapist was somber, standing stiffly with his hands hidden in the pockets of his wool jacket. Bram's voice was perfectly calm and reasonable when he spoke again.

"My dear Mr. Finch, you are going to accompany us back to our house and you are going to face Clair, whether you want to or not." Eric scowled at them.

"I will not," he snapped. "I've nothing to say to her or to the three of you. Get out."

Bram's generous mouth twisted bitterly. "No," he retorted. "We Averys never care to admit that we were wrong, but the day has come when we are forced to confess it."

"Wrong about what?" Eric snarled, planting his hands upon the desk and glowering at the young man before him. "You asked me to stay away from Clarissa and I have done so, have I not? I've stayed out of your lives as asked."

"You're still angry and it obviously isn't in our best interests to antagonize you, Mr. Finch. We thought that this situation would come to it's natural conclusion, that all the parties involved would make their peace with the outcome and life would go on largely as it was meant to." He hesitated, staring coolly at Eric. "That hasn't happened after all and we have to try something else, even if that means coming to you, hat in hand so to speak."

"What do you mean?" Something in Bram's voice made Eric falter. He felt a sudden unease, an anxiety that caught his breath from his lung, and his heartbeat skipped slightly.

Bram looked away, only the tightening of his jaw revealing his discomfort. "You must come to some sort of closure with her, Mr. Finch. If you cannot, she is going to grieve herself to death. She is not well now…" The bleak sentence trailed off and Eric felt his world jar to a sudden halt.

"What's wrong with her?" he demanded sharply.

"A number of things," Bram retorted. He looked up at Eric and his pretty face was stern with anger. "She will not eat as much as she should. Underweight, she's pale and listless. There is no heart in her anymore." Bram counted off the symptoms on his long graceful fingers. " She will not grow stronger. She works and sleeps, she never laughs anymore. She will not rest, no matter how we try to tempt her. We cannot help her, we cannot heal her. You are our last resort even though her illness is your fault. If there had been any another option, we would have taken it rather than...But we are out of choices. While Caine and I both would like to beat the stuffing out of you, Clair's wellbeing comes before any vengeance we might want."

"She's not well?" Eric repeated, frowning over the idea. "But...Why come to me?"

"In a word, desperation." Bram shrugged at him. "It truly galls me to have to seek you out, Mr. Finch. While our uncle considers you his friend, I look at my sister and I see only her failing health. You left Clair." He held up a hand when Eric might have protested. "Partly that is my fault and some is Caine's but you..." Bram raked a hand through his long hair, the long fingers trembling slightly. "You ran away from her, Mr. Finch, you rejected her and all that she holds dear. No matter what we do, she cannot let go and move on." He hesitated, his anger giving way before something desperate and fearful in his eyes. "I must beg you to come to our house, Mr. Finch."

Eric stared at the beautiful Avery, seeing the echo of Clarissa in the deep brown eyes and fair face. He glanced toward Caine and the brutally handsome man was so still that he might have been a statue. Mim's blue eyes were fixed on Eric, full of worry and fear. They were serious, Eric realized. Either this was an elaborate deception or the danger to Clarissa was truly grave. Bram cleared his throat but when he spoke, his voice was hoarse with grief.

"You've no love for us, Mr. Finch, but you...You said you loved Clair once. Will you come for that alone?"

Eric leaned on his desk, his heart aching as his mind raced over the symptoms.

Clarissa was ill?

Dom had said she seemed slender at Evey's wedding, that she hadn't eaten much at the dinner, that she had been somewhat withdrawn. He remembered the pale face at the hospital months ago, the slender body drowning in the over-sized jacket. He racked his thoughts for answers. Had she been ill even then? He's been so angry, treated her so callously... Now they said she was grieving herself even deeper into illness, making her brothers afraid enough to seek him out. Making a snap decision, he snatched up his coat and stepped around the desk.

"Yes, for Clarissa, I'll come."


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Notes: Again we remind you that overhauls have been effected and this tale will depart from it's previously rendered appearance. The details have been altered to present a better face to you, our long-suffering readers. We hope you approve.

Disclaimer: I don't own the V-verse. Instead I have kids and a longsuffering husband as well as an overly fertile imagination.

Special Delivery

Clarissa shrugged out of her coat and hung it carefully on the coat rack with her scarf and purse. She walked heavily through the house, looking for either of her brothers or at the least Mim, who might share a cup of tea with her before she went to lie down.

She found nothing except a a note on the fridge, stuck there with a silly faced magnet.

_Clair, we've gone out to pick up some thing. Back soon. The Boys._

She sighed and opened the refrigerator, looking half-heartedly at the contents. Poking around the wilted celery, she found nothing of any interest to her. She shut the door and moved to put on a kettle of water. The sound of the water running was the only interruption of the silence. She forced herself to shut it off and put the kettle on the stove. A jolt of pain stabbed her in the belly and she fetched up against the sink, gasping.

"Holy Christ," she said shakily. "Has Uncle Stephen given you one of his knives?"

She rubbed at the tight mound that housed her unborn child. "Take it a bit more gently, love. Mummy's not got that much room left. If you want more, you'll need to come outside and play." In response, the baby kicked even more fiercely. Clarissa winced. "Perverse little tyke, aren't you?" She rubbed the aching spot. "Must be the Irish in you."

Wrong thing to say.

Memories crowded into the forefront of her mind: Eric's eyes full of love as he rose over her, his hands on her body, his voice murmuring endearments in melodic Gaelic…. The images and sensations rushed over her bringing a wealth of loneliness that stole her breath. Agony bloomed in her heart, fresh and raw. Time hadn't healed it one whit, she realized dully. She forced herself to endure it, forced her breathing to slow into a steady rhythm until the hurt faded a little.

The kettle was screaming.

Surprised, she turned to it, frowning at the insistant interruption to the silence.

She hadn't noticed it and the realization stung. Her senses were all off now. Her balance, her grace, her keenness had gone during the eight months the child had grown within her, evaporated by the ever present process of pregnancy. She was miles behind her brothers now. She could watch them spar all day, amazed at their quickness and knowing that hers was gone, weighted down and leached away by the rider in her belly.

She made her tea, taking the time it steeped to stare out the window thoughtfully. The baby kicked again, high up under her ribs until she rubbed the aching place soothingly.

"Hey," she said sharply. "Let up, won't you?" The pain was far more immediate than the emotional agony but far easier to bear. She poured a cup, talking to her ever-present companion in a low voice.

"You haven't the right to punish me, little man. You're a little tyrant, you know. The tea's coming. Kicking me won't bring it on any faster." She stirred a few spoonfuls of sugar into her tea, adding milk. "I'll have you know I detest milk in my tea and I only drink it that way for you. If you keep bruising my insides, you can do without it." She grimaced at the tea's flavor. "This really is awful. I've no idea how your father managed it…"

Pain ripped through her again, real pain this time, a tearing agony that made her stiffen and cry out.

The fine china tea cup slipped from her startled fingers, tumbling to the kitchen floor and shattering. Clarissa groaned at the terrible pressure in her belly, feeling something warm rush between her thighs. She looked down to see bloody water pooling with the spilled tea at her feet. She was stunned at the sight, a brief moment of shocked numbness that was followed by the terrified thought "Too soon!" She clung to the counter, pain filling her with terror and holding her rooted to the spot.

"No," she whispered. "Not again."

She tried to get to the phone, to call for help. She hadn't taken a step before her rebellious legs failed her. She sank heavily to the floor, catching her weight one handed as the other hand cradled the baby in her womb protectively.

"Oh God, no," she moaned, the pain crashing over her again and filling her with terrible dread. "Oh, little man, it's not time!"

-

-

-

Eric paced alongside Caine, the younger man grimly silent. Behind them, Bram walked hand in hand with Mim. Clarissa's beautiful brother had seemed sincere in his desire to help his sister and, while Eric was still furious with Clarissa even after all these months, Bram's plea for Eric's assistance was all the excuse the Inspector needed to set aside his pride.

The truth was Eric needed to see Clarissa almost as badly as he needed his next breath.

Suddenly Bram cried out softly. Eric turned toward him, noticing the man's pallor at once as Mim supported the taller man's weight. "What is it?"

Caine checked his brother automatically then spun to rush with catlike grace toward a particular house. "Clair," Bram whispered softly as he started after Caine. "Something's wrong...".

Caine slammed open the front door, checking the immediate area for intruders. A whimper from the kitchen pulled him deeper inside the house to where Clair lay on the kitchen floor, arms wrapped around her enormous belly.

The floor around her was slick with blood-streaked fluids.

"Clair?" he called out urgently, his usually gruff voice panicked.

She didn't respond. He knelt to lift her head and, at his touch, her eyes fluttered open. "Too…soon," she moaned. "Help…"

Caine lifted her into his arms carefully. "I have you, Clair," he promised. "I have you now."

Her eyes rolled up in her head as she seized, her limbs moving spasmodically. He restrained her tenderly, meaty hands gentle on her body to keep her from thrashing. Bram moved into view and Caine looked toward him desperately. "Call for emergency medical," he ordered. Bram picked up the phone automatically and dialed the number, his full attention on his siblings.

Eric came up behind him, his eyes sweeping over the blood on the floor and Clarissa floundering in Caine's arms, her belly large with child. For a moment he was shocked beyond words. Bram has said she was underweight, that she wouldn't eat. Here was Clarissa, obviously pregnant, obviously in her last trimester, the mound of her unborn child a contradiction to the image in Eric's imagination. He didn't stop to wonder at it. In the midst of the emergency, his police training came to the forefront. He scanned the area, seeing the details for himself but asking the inevitable question out of habit.

"What has happened?"

Caine looked up from his sister, face grim and eyes dark.

"It's too soon, but..." he said brusquely. "She's in labor, it seems."

The blood on the floor spoke of another cause entirely. Eric moved to Clarissa's other side, kneeling carefully beside her as he studied her still form. "Is the blood from the baby or is she cut somewhere?"

A quick visual inspection found no injuries. Clarissa had stopped convulsing and lay in Caine's arms, breathing shallowly. Her face was horribly pale, her lashes lying on her pale cheeks like bruises under her closed lids. Her soft brown hair was tousled, the curls tangled over her face. Eric stared at her, noticing the paleness of her skin, the lines that bracketed her mouth with pain. She looked exhausted, beyond bearing. One hand lay across the width of her stomach, each finger so slender and delicate that they might have belonged to a child. He could see the tracing of blue veins under her skin and realized that she was truly gaunt, despite the pregnancy's deceptive appearance.

Eric reached out to smooth back her hair with suddenly trembling fingers, thinking how thin she was, how fragile she looked despite the great swell of the baby in her belly. He couldn't bear to think that it was his, that she'd gone so far without him beside her... She was months gone, months, near term... How had he not known it?

"Clarissa?" he whispered. She stirred, frowning, and he pulled his hand back guiltily as Caine lifted her a little higher. Her eyes fluttered open, finding Caine staring down at her fearfully.

"My little man," she whispered, her breath coming in pants. "Caine, see to him for me. I hurt…"

"See to him yourself," Caine snarled, dragging her up against his chest. "I've not gone through hell to lose you now. I'll be damned if I care for the brat who stole your life." His face was black with rage. She groaned as another pain came, her voice raw.

"You'll do as I say," she growled when the pain passed, hands knotting in his shirt, panting. "I'll make your life hell." Caine huffed a bitter laugh.

"Do you promise, Clair?" Caine cradled her, pressing his cheek against her hair to plead with her softly. "Come on, bright one. I've fought for years to find you. Would you leave me so quick?" The next pain came and she writhed against it, clutching Caine's arm until her nails cut into his skin.

The fight went out of her when the contraction passed. "So tired," she said wearily, subsiding against his chest. "The baby...Promise me."

Eric leaned over her. "Clarissa?" he whispered. She forced her eyes open, his face filling her vision, and she trembled.

"Eric," she sighed. "It's cold without you." Her eyes closed again.

-

-

-

She woke in a bed, her body aching. She laid a hand on her belly and keened in despair as she sat up. Caine's hands caught her shoulders as did Bram's. "Easy, Clair. It's alright."

"My baby," she cried. "Not again!" She fought their touch. "Where is my little man?"

"In nursery, Clair. He's early but big. Healthy as a horse, to boot." Bram's voice was soothing. "All's well." He petted her gently. "You gave us a hell of a scare, love."

A sister came in with a syringe, slipping the needle into the IV tubing. Clarissa cried out in panicked refusal. With a savage movement, she ripped out her IV and tried to rise.

"No drugs," she snarled. "I want to see my son!" The blood running from her arm didn't bother her. She shoved Caine back and tried to get out bed. Her legs folded under her but Caine caught her up before she fell. She pummeled his chest fiercely. "My son!" she shrieked.

"You'll see him," he promised. "When you're stronger, Clair."

More nurses appeared in the room, Eric following them, drawn to the pandemonium. By the bed, a knot of people engaged in furious movement.

The hospital staff was trying to quell Clarissa who was fighting like a wildcat, terror contorting her face. Caine was holding her, his arms full of her and unable to stop her pushing the nurses away. There was such desperation in his lover's actions that Eric found himself wading into the fray to get to her.

"Clarissa!" he shouted over the din. "Everyone, be still at once!"

Seeing him brought her to a halt. She stared at him with wide eyes, her skin terribly pale while her eyes were bright with tears. Eric came toward her slowly, heartsick at the sight of her fear and the awful pallor of her face. She recoiled as he reached out to her, shrinking away from him, and his hopes died at the realization that she didn't want him to touch her.

"Get back in bed, Clarissa," he said firmly. She stared at him as though at some stranger, not quite certain of his identity. "Sister," he said to the nearest nurse. "Bandages, please, and bring the baby." The woman gaped at him.

"She's not capab…"

"She's carried him his whole life," Eric snapped. "I'll be responsible for the child's wellbeing." He watched Caine deposit Clarissa carefully onto the bed. "Everyone else, get out." When Caine and Bram hesitated, Eric waved them toward the door. "Both of you, out." Bram caught Caine's arm and led his brother from the room without a protest between them.

When the door closed, when they were alone, Eric came to stand by the bed. Clarissa stared at him silently. "I suppose we need to talk," he said slowly. "The boy is mine, I believe?"

She didn't answer. He moved closer to the bed, noticing the blood still flowing down her arm. He reached out and applied pressure to the wound, his thumb resting over the place she'd pulled the IV from. She shrank away from his touch but didn't pull her arm from him. Eric eased closer still. "Clarissa?"

She licked her lips, her pink tongue reminding him of a series of events that had nothing to do with the current situation…except that they probably caused the creation of the little man in the nursery. "I'm still furious with you," he said lightly, not waiting for her to answer. "You drugged me, Clarissa, and left me. I understand why you did it but I still feel you betrayed me. I thought you loved me but you didn't bother to trust me to help you."

"Eric…" The sound of her own voice seemed to startle her. She swallowed hard and turned her face aside. He took her chin in his hand and turned her back to him. The expression on her face was vulnerable, brown eyes filling with tears.

"Don't go," he said firmly. "I can't follow."

She burst into tears then, great silent sobs that wracked her body. He pulled her into his embrace, tucking her head under his chin and let her weep.

She was still far too thin, he realized, feeling the bones of her back under his hand. She looked worse than when she'd been shot, he thought, and the comparison made his stomach knot with fear. Bram's desperation had not been exaggerated. This was not the girl he'd made love to at Gallowsmere. This was a woman with only one reason to live and she thought that she'd lost it when she woke to a stomach empty of her baby. He held her, thinking that she needed to eat, needed to know that she hadn't lost anything, that there was hope.

The nurse returned with bandages and she made short work of stanching the flow of blood under Eric's thumb. Eric kept his hold on Clarissa's body, watching the nurse work. The older woman stepped back with a frown.

"She'll need a new gown before she can hold the baby," she said in a disapproving voice. "And the bed needs to be changed as well."

Eric nodded. "Fine," he snapped. "Then get to it, I suppose. She needs the baby more than anything else now." The nurse's face changed, softening in sudden understanding.

"Lost the last one, did she?" she said, her voice turning gentle. "Aye, she'll not believe it until she sees him for herself." She moved to a cupboard and drew out a gown. "Let's get this on, dear, and get you into a chair." With impersonal efficiency, she changed Clarissa's gown. Eric picked her up from the bed, carrying her to a seat and settling her in it so that the bedding could be changed. She clung to him until he looked down at her soberly.

"I'm not leaving, Clarissa," he promised. "I want to see him too."

She released him then, huddling into herself for warmth. Eric wondered what she was thinking for her face was a mask of pain. "Do you need medicine?" he asked. She shook her head silently.

She had no sooner been ensconced in bed again than the baby was brought in.

Clarissa grew alert, her expression full of wonder as the nurse laid the baby in her arms. She stared down at the scrunched up face and then brushed a finger over the pouting mouth. He sucked fiercely in his sleep and Clarissa sighed, a long shuddering release that trembled on the edge of tears.

Eric watched her, his chest tight. This was his son, made with this beautiful girl; seeing them together made him want her all over again. She unwrapped the baby's blanket, staring at his tiny feet and little fists. She laid a hand on the tiny chest, as she had so many times with Eric, her eyes closing to let her feel him.

"He's alive," she whispered. "This I did right." Carefully she wrapped him up again then offered him to Eric. "He's yours."

"I knew that," he said, accepting the bundle and watching as she nodded wearily.

"If he ever asks about me," she whispered. "Tell him something nice, if you can."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Eric exclaimed. "Clarissa?" She didn't speak, settling back against the pillows heavily, her eyelids drooping shut. He laid a hand on her but got no response. He pushed the nurse call button. "Clarissa?"

The door burst open and Caine entered followed by Bram. They came to the other side of the bed. Bram's handsome face was contorted in fear, as was Caine's. The brothers leaned over their sister. "Clair?" Caine called. "Don't go."

"Please, Clair, stay with us." Bram stroked his sister's hair. "Lovey, don't do this. Please don't do this to us."

"What do you mean?" Eric demanded. "She was talking; she was fine, now…"

"She's fading…" Bram turned to the nurse that entered the room. "Hurry!"

The nurse checked Clair's pulse, her attitude turning from casual to concerned in a trice. She pulled back the blanket and the bedsheets were drenched, red with fresh blood. She yanked a cord from the wall and started lowering the bed. "Step back," she ordered. "Clear the area at once!"

Nurses and a doctor came in at a run, swarming around the bed in a flurry of activity. Clarissa lay under their care, her skin as white as the sheets had been, body limp as they shifted her to a gurney and rushed her from the room. Caine watched, brooding, his dark face thunderous despite the steadying hand that Bram had on his shoulder. He trembled with rage as he rounded on Eric.

"This is your fault," he snarled desperately. "Years of trying to find her, to bring my family back together and you messed with her head. You got her with the brat." He clenched his teeth, baring them in hatred. "If she dies…" He let Bram pull him away, eyes bleak, listening as Bram murmured to him softly, the twin speak that seemed to ease some of the larger man's fury. Caine nodded sharply and banged out of the room as Bram turned to Eric.

"He's upset," he explained. "He doesn't always remember how to properly care for people."

Eric eyed him curiously. "And you do?"

"I have Mim," he said simply. "Caine has no one, has had no one for a very long time." He came closer, looking down at the baby. "Clair has this one, I suppose..."

"She said he was mine."

Bram's looked away quickly. "Ah, then, she meant it." He ducked his head awkwardly. "She always said she would hand him over after he was born. She said you'd give him a proper life." His paused. "Thank you for letting her see him, Inspector. It was kind of you."

"I wasn't being kind," Eric said, baffled. "She's his mother."

"You will find no nursery in our flat, no baby things, nothing but a file of tests and sonogram photos, Inspector. She made no plans for after birth, save giving him to you." Bram's voice hitched, somewhere between a sob and a sigh. "I thought she would change her mind, I see I was wrong."

Eric looked down at his newborn son. "Why?" he asked. "Why give him to me?"

"Because she said you were a good and honest man, the opposite of Atherton, and you would make sure he was raised well. She never thought she could be a mother, worthy…" His voice failed him and he turned away. "You can tell him he was loved. She loved him enough for all of us."

-

-

-


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Notes: I know that this is a bit different from the previously offered chapter, and I have explained it as best I can.

Disclaimers: I have no ownership of anyone but the Averys and they are simply vehicles to move the V-verse toward happy endings. I own nothing but my laptop and my writing madness.

Beyond Endurance, Pain Rules

It was much later that Clarissa was brought back into the room.

She slept, drugs keeping consciousness at bay even as Eric fed the baby a bottle brought to him by a quiet nurse. He sat cradling his son and staring at Clarissa's still form, when the doctor came in. The man looked at him gravely.

"Are you the patient's husband?"

"We hadn't made it official…"

The doctor nodded, noticing the baby. "I'm afraid the young lady injured herself severely after her exertions earlier today. After the initial Placental Abruption, there was antepartum hemorrhage which was stopped through IV fluids and medication. When she stopped the fluids and stressed herself during her disorientation, the hemorrhage began again. There was a great deal of internal bleeding, and the uterus lacked the elasticity to help seal off the blood. As a result, we had to perform an emergency hysterectomy. It was a matter of life or death, sir."

Eric felt a weight settle over his heart. "She was dying?" His gaze sought out her beloved face, so still and quiet on the white pillows. The doctor's voice seemed faint to him when the man began talking again.

"She was. We put in as much blood as we could get into her, but the hysterectomy was our only recourse. She is very weak but her condition is stable. She may have a great deal of difficulty adjusting to the loss. I am very sorry."

"No more children?" Eric cradled his son, looking down at the tiny form and feeling the loss of something he hadn't quite realized he hoped for after all this time. "No more?"

"No, sir. Her uterus had an unusually high amount of scarring. It's amazing she carried this child so close to term. I'm sure she was in a great deal of pain during the last few months. She's lucky she didn't abrupt long before, costing her life as well as the baby's." The doctor checked Clarissa's vitals and excused himself.

Eric felt the world fall away until there was just the quiet room and the three of them. His son slept angelically in his arms while the boy's mother slept a few inches away under the lull of drugs to ease her pain. Eric raked a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to climb into bed with her and hold them both.

Pain. He thought back to the beatings she'd endured at Atherton's orders, the rapes, the forced miscarriage, the shooting…Now the little man in his arms and the loss of any future children. The physical wounding was nothing compared to the emotional agony of losing her siblings, first the half-blooded ones and then her full blooded brothers, but she knew pain all the time. The doctor seemed to think that the pregnancy had been hurtful as well. She was either in pain emotionally or physically without any respite. Eric wished that he could do something to ease her hurts but it never seemed to end. Did Clarissa ever have a day when there wasn't agony in her heart or her body?

He got to his feet and picked up the telephone. He dialed the number from memory and waited. When the other end picked up, he said "Evey? Is Stephen there?"

-

-

-

"Clair?"

She tried to ignore the voice, to keep sleeping.

There was pain waiting down the road to waking and she didn't want to feel it.

It was nice to just hover weightlessly, without a body. Something was holding the pain off and she was grateful for it. She didn't recall what had brought her here. Had she been given to the Fingermen again? She couldn't remember and she thought that was a good thing. She'd taken the beatings given her without ever needing drugs before; someone must have been energetic this time. She burrowed deeper into the blanket of numbness.

"Clair?"

The voices of her brothers called to her, cutting through the haze of her thoughts.

Dead. All the people she loved were dead, weren't they?.

If she could let go, she'd be dead too and everything would be better, wouldn't it? It would be nice to be a part of the three again, reunited with the hearts that had beaten in tandem with her own since the womb. God knew how badly she missed them. Always empty, always alone.

"Clair, wake up." That voice, familiar but not quite, brooked no refusal and out of long training, she tried to comply. "That's a good girl," the voice said firmly. "Wake up now and let's see those pretty brown eyes."

Atherton's commands were meant to be obeyed. She gathered herself, struggled to obey but her senses were on overload. The light was like a knife in her head. She protested, one arm lifting to shield herself from the brilliance, wordlessly whimpering as she still tried to open her eyes despite her body's automatic refusal.

Someone whispered to someone else and the harsh light dulled to a bearable level.

She grimaced as she forced her eyes open, blearily squinting against the glare.

Someone she didn't recognize leaned over her and her hand lashed out automatically to shove them away. She didn't reach them. A hand clamped around her wrist, pulling the blow back. She reacted by trying to pull away as the owner of the hand leaned over her.

"Clair," he said, his voice deep and raspy. She blinked at him, frowning, confused.

"Caine?" Her voice was little more than a croak. "Caine?"

"Yes, pretty one." He smiled, one of his rare real smiles that reached into his eyes and made her feel warm all over. "I'm with you."

She hesitated. "But...You're dead." She touched his face, fingers tentative on his stubbled cheek. "Oh...At last! Am I dead too?"

"No, pet. You're alive." He frowned at her, covered her fingers in his. "Clair, don't you remember?"

"You're dead," she whispered. "You left me, Bram left me. I don't want to be alone, Caine. Take me with you this time. Don't leave me again."

Caine's frown deepened. "No, Clair, it was all a mistake. Sweetheart, don't you remember?"

"Don't call me that." She turned her face from him. "I don't like being called that."

"Clair, what's wrong? This isn't like you." Caine put his hand on her shoulder and she cried out at the touch that seared her skin, pulling away from him.

"Leave me alone." She curled into herself, refusing the connection.

"Clair?" Someone brushed back her hair gently. "Clair, are you awake?"

"I'm dead," she snapped irritably. "Is dead awake?" There were things that pressed at her in the darkness, straining the fragile hold she had on her emotions. "I'm dead now. It's all over. I can lie down now." She closed her eyes tightly, shutting everything out.

"Clarissa?"

The sweetest voice she'd ever heard spoke her name.

She couldn't remember how she knew it but the voice rang through her ears familiarly, bringing longing and pleasure, making her chest burn. Clair fought against the instinctive need to reach for that voice, tried to ignore it, despite that it promised warmth and tenderness to her bruised and aching heart. . Atherton would use it against her if he knew that the voice touched her. She couldn't let him know how that voice weakened her resolve, pulled her toward caring... She twisted on the narrow bed, trying to escape the strange feelings that knotted in her stomach.

"Let me go," she muttered. "Let me be."

"Clair? Wake up, lovey..." Bram's voice came to her, concerned tone, gentle... She rejected him as she had Caine. They were dead and gone and she had to live without them. The long years alone rose up in her throat, pain and anguish choking her with ghostly hands. She should have died with them, she thought, writhing under the guilt. Why did she live on? What was there but Grandfather and pain and grief and regret? Nothing worth the struggle, she thought, and her life swelled up in monstrous horror before her, one endless war against the insurmountable force of Atherton's will. The hopelessness, the bitter knowledge that this was all she was good for, raked her from the inside out, freeing her panic at the trap she called her life.

"No," she groaned as the dam holding her feelings trembled on the verge of giving way. She gritted her teeth, feeling herself small and weak in the face of so much emotion. On the edge of her awareness, she could sense the roiling hurt raging as it looked for a way to burst it's bounds and flood her with a lifetime of regrets. She shook her head savagely, trying to clear it, to seek some sort of higher ground to protect herself. The fluid barriers of words, the baffles that had always given her comfort in the past, ran in jumbled snippets through her mind and she quoted them aloud, out of habit, using them to block the feelings that threatened to overcome her. The words promised safety and normality and control but as she spoke them, Clair realized that the promise was largely hollow.

"Let us go then you and I when the evening is spread out against the sky like a patient etherized up a table…" She shook her head, eyes tightly shut. "Not that one, not that one! Our fears in Banquo stick deep there is that in his nature would be feared… Not that one either. The grave's a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. No no no... A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it."... And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced... "

She tried to latch on to one strong enough to block the rising panic, dull the flight instinct pounding in her blood, anything that would erase her feelings and make her numb again.

"So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head... As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives, each wife had seven sacks, each sack had seven cats, each cat had seven kits, kits cats sacks wives, how many were going to St. Ives?" She grimaced, coming back to her original selection. "I have known them all already, known them all, the evenings, mornings and afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons…"

The walls weren't rising high enough; she could still feel the pain coming like a train, late for the station.

"Oh, God," she whispered. "It's coming. It's coming and I am too late."

"Clarissa," that voice said gently, the kindness in it battering down the walls she needed so badly. "Clarissa, my girl…"

It was her undoing.

The walls crumbled under the endearment and Clarissa felt the pain rise over her for one heart-stopping moment. She braced herself but it came with a vast rush. Her heart stuttered in her breast, agony white-hot shearing through her body and soul. She heard screaming, dimly aware it was her own voice.

Ice entered her veins, running up her arm and coiling around her heart. It froze the pain, stole her ability to move, but her mind still whirled with the savagery of her feelings. Blackness opened under her and she tumbled into it with a welcome sigh.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Notes: Are we having fun yet??edited for corrections, continuity and plotline, blahblahblah...ES

Disclaimers: See previous chapter, we don't feel like retyping it.

**Lethe**

She woke to a sense of confusion, her instincts holding her still and motionless as she tried to remember where she was. The scent of chemicals tickled her senses and she recognized the antiseptic stink of hospital. She wondered why she would have been in hospital but it didn't come to her. A strange sensation distracted her from her thoughts, too strange to be real but she knew it after a moment's thought.

Someone's hand was holding hers, their roughened thumb tracing a circle upon the back of her hand. She immediately wondered who had the temerity to touch her.

The repetitive stroking was pleasant and comforting, oddly familiar but alien too. It seemed somehow reassuring, the gesture radiating kindness. That made no sense for she didn't know kindness or anyone who would bother to be kind to her. Stealthily, she turned her head to look at the contact, curious as to who had their hand on hers.

A dark haired man, his eyes closed, sat beside her, his hand wrapped around hers as he stroked her skin with his thumb. His free hand was loosely fisted on the bed. She studied him silently until he suddenly opened his eyes, the deep brown gaze full of worry. Finding her looking at him, he smiled, pleasure spreading across his weary face.

"Hullo."

She lifted a brow at him, unimpressed. "Who the hell are you?"

He flinched, visibly startled at her tone, and his brown eyes turned puzzled. "Clarissa?"

"That was my name last I checked," she said tartly. "Let's try again: Who the hell are you and how dare you touch me?" She glanced pointedly at the hand holding hers.

"Clarissa?" His fingers tightened on hers, the press of them seeming to go to her throat. She reacted as trained, lips twisting into a snarl.

"That's not your name." She glared at him. "Where are my guards? Who allowed you into this room?" She struggled to sit up but her body protested the movement, pain cutting across her stomach with vicious claws. She fought against the pain, gritting her teeth in a silent grimace. The man leaned closer, his scent warm and woodsy.

"Clair?" he murmured, frowning.

"Don't call me that. You don't know me well enough to call me that." She snatched back her hand, her voice deadly as she leaned farther from him. "Why am I in hospital? Where is Dr. Stanton?"

"Stanton?" The name came out in an astonished gasp. "Clarissa, Stanton has been dead for nearly three years."

She shook her head at him. "Don't be ridiculous! Atherton would never allow any other physician to touch me." She scowled. "Where the bloody fuck am I?"

The door to her room opened to admit a nurse. Clair addressed her sourly. "I wish to leave. Call my car and arrange my discharge at once please."

The man shook his head, climbing stiffly to his feet. "You can't leave." He waved the nurse away, never taking his eyes from Clair. "You've had surgery, and you've not healed enough to go."

"You're barking mad." She eased away from him warily, seeking the edge of the hospital bed as she watched him for any threat. "I am leaving here, at the earliest possible moment. You may leave my room in the interim." She put one foot on the floor and eased into a standing position, keeping the bed between them. The room wobbled annoyingly and she breathed deeply until the sensation passed. "Damn, I feel like shit." She shook her head. "It's never felt like this before." She forced her reluctant body to go to the cupboard. There was nothing inside. Annoyed she grunted and slammed the door shut. "Where the hell are my clothes?"

The door opened to admit two men. Clair's face paled, her brows knitted in confusion. "What is this madness?" she whispered. "You're both dead!"

"Hardly, Clair," Caine retorted. "Nothing keeps an Avery down, I see?"

She clenched a hand over her heart, staring at him. Caine hesitated, brows knitting in confusion as he returned the gesture, opening his hand toward her, palm out. Clair lunged for him then, gasping when he wrapped his arms around her, her pain forgotten in the long-missed familiarity of his embrace.

"You're alive!" she whispered brokenly into his ear, her arms around his neck. "Oh, my brother, you're really here!" She looked through watery eyes at the taller brother behind him. "You both are alive?"

"I always said you were the smart one, love." Caine picked her up and carted her back to the bed. "Although not necessarily all the time." He put her down gently. "What are you doing out of bed? You need to rest."

"Atherton gave you back to me," she said jubilantly, clutching at his arms to keep him close. "Either he thought I wasn't going to live or he has something planned." She looked up at him adoringly, clinging to his hand. "Oh, Caine, like old times, no?"

"Not quite," the big man answered, glancing uneasily toward the stranger beside the bed. She caught his look and frowned at the interloper.

"I thought I told you to go," she said pointedly. The dark man shook his head.

"I never agreed to it."

"Your agreement is unnecessary." She gave him a long cool stare then dismissed him with a toss of her head. "It's my hospital room, my life, my decision. Get the fuck out of my room."

"Clair." Bram spoke up, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "Don't speak so to Eric."

She glanced at her brother curiously. "Why not?" she demanded. "He laid his hand on me, Bram, and he's apparently deranged. He thinks I've had surgery…"

"You have had, lovey." Bram sat gingerly on the foot of her bed facing her, his exquisite features serious and concerned. "Eric has been watching over you for us." She considered his statement, frowning as she flicked a glance between him and the dark-haired man.

"I don't know him, Brother mine." She tilted her head back as a spasm of pain shot through her. "He doesn't seem like part of the flock."

Bram's worried expression changed to something more guarded. "He is our...friend, love."

"But I don't know his face, Bram. I have no frame of reference for him... Is he new to the local fold or a hired hand?" She drew in a deep breath, her eyes closing involuntarily as Caine's hand rested lightly upon her shoulder.

"He has but newly arrived, Clair." Bram murmured, reaching out to touch her arm. "He is trustworthy."

"New but you trust him?" Clair shook her head, opening her eyes to look at the pretty man in disbelief. "What does Grandfather think of that?"

"The shepherd has no opinion, Clair."

She went still, her face blanking into a mask. "What does that mean?" she asked, her tone suddenly taut with concern. Bram looked at Caine and then back to Clair.

"The Shepherd is missing."

"Missing?" Clair stiffened, pain forcing her to gasp as she tried to lean forward. "How did that happen? What is happening with the flock?"

"The flock is scattered, without the Shepherd to guide it." Caine's voice came from her side, the tone low as he leaned closer to her. Clair blinked up at him, confused by their news, her fine brows knitting in concentration. The silence lengthened as she stared up at Caine, her body tense as a bowstring, pain all but forgotten as she wrestled with their information.

"Then where is the new shepherd, Bram? Have the wolves come?" She shook her head as she asked the questions and the room wobbled dangerously around her. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead as tremors passed though her. "I don't understand. There are contingencies and protocols that should have been followed, that should have prevented such a thing..."

"Rest now, lovey," Bram urged, laying a hand on the blanket covering her thigh . "It's not important now and you need to heal a bit more..."

She snarled her reply at him, eyes flashing with fury. "An Avery doesn't ignore their duty, Bram!"

"But it's not your duty, Clair. There's nothing to be done." The handsome brother patted her gently. "You aren't the one in charge..."

"Of course I am!" she hissed. "As an Avery, I am responsible, just as you and Caine are. It's in our blood, Bram. England prevails because we make it so!"

He recoiled before her anger before giving her a quick nod. Clair sank back against her pillows as exhaustion threatened to overcome her. The three men waited as she gathered her strength, watching her with varied expressions: anticipation, horror, and confusion.

"I know what to do," she said into the silence, her eyes closed. "I remember the path to safety and I shall carry the crook until either the shepherd returns or another is appointed." She tipped her head back, suddenly tired. "You both will help me gather the flock before the feast."

"As you will have it," Bram whispered. He lifted haunted eyes to Eric, shaking his head at the man. "For now, Clair, just rest. If you're good, you can leave here in a few days." Bram patted her leg reassuringly.

She yawned as her exhaustion overcame her will. "Change days to hours," she protested sleepily. "And we'll all go home to Burlwood together."

-

-

-

A few moments later in the corridor, Eric rounded on the brothers. "What the hell was all that about?"

Bram cleared his throat and tried to explain.

"We need Mim. Uncle Stephen too." he said, looking toward Caine. The bigger man was impassive as he stared at Bram. The taller of the brothers fidgeted. "Something isn't quite right."

"Why?" Eric felt frustrated by Bram's hesitation; the man seemed unsettled. He watched as Bram shifted nervously, a strange reaction in the usually calm brother. Caine folded his arms over his broad chest and waited for Bram to continue. "The way she acted, something she said," the Inspector continued. "It upset you."

Bram leaned against the wall and blew out an exasperated sigh. "She asked if you were in the fold. Remember?" At Eric's nod, he continued. "Her question about the fold, were you in the fold or a hired hand? About the Shepherd?" Eric scowled. Bram nodded. "When she said she will carry the crook, she meant that she will be shepherd until the old one returns or his replacement is named."

"What does that mean?"

"It's code," Caine rumbled quietly. His brown eyes were almost black as he looked down at the Inspector. "Old codes, long unused." Bram nodded in agreement, but his eyes were haunted by old memories.

"But not forgotten," Eric pointed out. "What do the words mean?" Bram licked his lips anxiously.

"The flock means the Fingermen, Mr. Finch, and the shepherd stands for Grandfather."

Eric's eyes widened. "Has she gone mad?" he demanded incredulously. "She's not a Fingerman, Bram. She's been out of their hands for nearly two years!"

Bram moved nervously toward Caine, automatically seeking the comfort of his brother's solid presence. "I don't know," he whispered, glancing at the door of Clair's room. "But that wasn't our Clair. Something is very wrong with her, Mr. Finch."


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Notes:I am editing, no real news there, y'all have read that before. Do you notice any difference?

Disclaimers: I own nothing of V, except the DVD and a poster my daughter bought me for Christmas.

Family Reunions

A little later, Clair opened her eyes again, feeling as though someone had cut her in half. The pain was the same as when the Elite had taken her and she cursed the pain softly. A startled voice interrupted her.

"Good heavens, girl! You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

She looked toward the voice sharply, uncomfortably alarmed to think that she hadn't noticed another person in the room. A tall man sat in the chair beside the bed, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded over the width of his chest. He half-smiled at her, his brown eyes cool under a thatch of black curls. He looked remarkably like her brothers...

"I haven't got a mother," she retorted. "What's it to you?"

"Do you know me, Clarissa?" She squinted at him, pretending that she hadn't any idea for a long moment then dropping the pretense.

"You're Stephen, of course." She hated the sight of him, she thought, the identical twin of the lunatic who'd fathered her. He smiled but the expression didn't make his eyes any warmer.

"Got it in one." He leaned forward politely. "Uncomfortable? Do you need pain medication?"

She considered the question, pasting on a thin smile to cover her discomfort. "Why would I be uncomfortable, Stephen? Has Grandfather sent you to me then?"

"Atherton Avery is missing, presumed dead for many months, Clarissa." Stephen leaned back, smiling smugly. "I rather expect that makes me the next shepherd."

"I rather think you're wrong, but you've cheek enough for two," she said firmly, her smile fading at the sound of her formal name on his lips. "Which begs a different question: Is that mad bastard brother of yours still terrorizing London?"

"I've no idea what you mean."he said sharply, but his face tightened.

"Don't you?" She shifted uncomfortably and let the question go. "You were elite, long ago before you vanished from the face of the earth. Are you telling me you are back in the fold now?"

"I never left it, dear niece."

"Perhaps you are a good little lamb, lad, but you'll understand that I have reservations as to the fact." She hated this conversation, her mind absorbed by the pain gnawing at her belly and her near helplessness at his all-too healthy proximity. It made her nauseous to have him so near and she gritted her teeth as the pain made her dizzy to boot. She wished he would go away now, leaving her to suffer the pain or take something that would ease it. She couldn't do either with Stephen's presence such a palpable threat.

Stephen leaned toward her again, smiling that icy smile. "Oh, I stopped being a lamb long ago," he confided silkily, his voice sending a frisson of fear down her spine. "And you are no meek sheep yourself, are you?" he continued. "You were Atherton's second, my darling niece, Family too long apart, I think. Long past time for a family reunion."

"We aren't family."She fought against the need to lean away, to put space between them. "You've gotten it all wrong, Stephen."

"Have I?" he whispered, moving closer still."You were Atherton's second, after Creedy died, by all accounts."

"Right by half then," She conceded, laying her hand on her aching belly, hoping to ease the discomfort a bit. "You want to be shepherd, do you? You'll have to prove to me that you are worthy of the keys to the kingdom. I will not release them to anyone based upon their braggadocio alone." The pain was growing worse, gnawing at her relentlessly. She fought not to show it, fought not to surrender to it but it was intensifying. She shifted again and tried to shift the topic as well. "I don't remember why I was brought here. Do you know why?" Stephen nodded and leaned back again, arms folded across his wide chest.

"You are here because you had... surgery."

"And why was that?" Moisture beaded on her brow, her heart pounding in her chest, crowding her lungs and making her feel as though she were suffocating.

"You've had a hysterectomy, Clarissa, old damage that could not be repaired." Stephen watched her face, his gaze keen. "They took out your womb."

She frowned at the thought then shrugged. "Well, then," she said dismissively. "That's a weight off my mind."

He hesitated, still staring at her face."It doesn't trouble you, Clarissa? That you will never have a child, never carry a baby?"

Clair shook her head. "Why should I be concerned? Now when I am raped by a Fingerman, I shan't need to worry that I will be forced to carry his get. I never felt the need for a child any way." She leaned back and sighed. "There were always other options, had Grandfather wanted other heirs."

Stephen nodded. "I see your point." He rose to his feet, suddenly looming over her bed. Clair fought the urge to shrink from his presence, keeping her face expressionless. He reached out and brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen toward her eyes, the movement coming faster than she could avoid it. "You're sweating, Clarissa, and I rather suspect you are fevered. You need pain medication."

She jerked away from his hand. "I need to see Dr. Stanton so I can go home again. I'll feel better at Burlwood."

"Stanton is dead. She's been dead a long time now. However, if you feel it's best that you go home, then we'll have to see about moving things along." He studied her for a moment coolly. "I do not wish to be your adversary, Clarissa,"he whispered, closer than she was comfortable with.

"You certainly aren't my friend, Stephen." She eased her position. "I don't know you and I don't trust you. I've no reason to."

"But I am related to you, Atherton's son, and your uncle by blood. We could present a unified front to the remnants of the Fingermen. As things stand, you are weakened by your infirmity; you'll need a strong arm among the Fingermen…"

"I have my brothers. I am hardly alone."

"They haven't protected you against... unpleasantness in the past," he pointed out. "Things that would never happen with my friendship and support."

She shivered at the memories his words roused inside her, mentally shying away from them before they grew stronger. "Promises, promises, Stephen," she said, trying to appear nonchalant.

"I don't make them lightly." He leaned down until his eyes were level with hers. "I rarely make promises at all, and never ones I cannot keep. "

She leaned back, trying to ease her discomfort with distance. "I need Dr. Stanton, Stephen."

"You are in for a long wait since Stanton's dead, Clarissa, as I told you.." He pressed the call button. "You will need someone to see to your care at Burlwood. I'll arrange it, shall I?." The nurse came in, making Clair's eyes narrow on Stephen's face..

"Why should you?"

"You are the one who holds the secrets of the Fingermen. Not your brothers. You. All the contacts I do not have or know." He smiled again. "As such, it behooves me to keep you safe."

She nodded in acceptance of the rationale even as she dismissed it. "Are my brothers about?"

"I sent them out to cool their heels in the hall."

"I want Caine. He needs to be here." The nurse checked her vitals and drew out a syringe. Clair held up a hand, forestalling the injection. "Not until Caine is here."

Stephen nodded. "As you like, dear niece. Or will you refuse any familial connection that is based solely upon the fact that your father and I were monozygotic?"

She frowned, finding the words oddly familiar. "As you are Atherton's son, it matters little either way. If you choose to acknowledge it, I will not argue the fact. The truth is that we have no real connection, you and I, other than the blood we inherited from Atherton," she pointed out wearily, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but she noticed that something flickered over his face, a shadow of pain that vanished at once.

"No, I suppose we don't. Perhaps some day we will."

He left the room, replaced a few moments later by Caine's welcome presence. Clarissa waved to the nurse as Caine came to stand beside the bed, his hand a welcome weight upon her shoulder. She tipped her head back to look at him, seeing the watchfulness in his dark gaze and comforted by his close presence. "You may proceed," she said, and was grateful when the pain faded away quickly as the drugs entered her body.

-

-

-

Stephen found Eric, Bram and Mim waiting anxiously for him in the corridor. "She has no memories from before I came out of hiding, it seems," he announced heavily, leaning his back against the wall. "She accepted that I am a Fingerman without question."

Mim nodded as Bram swore softly. Eric looked at his friend and his confusion seemed to find a match in Stephen's. "How did this happen?" Eric demanded. He shook his head. "She was fine one moment and then... she was like that." He gestured toward the room, his voice a harsh whisper. "She just...woke up as someone else."

Mim spoke up from beside Bram and his voice was quietly firm. "This was always a possibility." he said softly.

"What do you mean?" Bram looked down at his lover, his fine brows drawn together in a frown. "That isn't my sister. She's not like that, Mim. She's made so many changes since she was... that woman." Mim took Bram's hand, his expression somber.

"The changes weren't necessarily permanent, " he told the beautiful brother. "She suffered for those changes, love, and she grew as a result of them. This was always a possible outcome after the original damage was done."

"But...why?" Bram begged. "She's been fine this whole time."

"She has always had a reason to be strong, to hold herself together." Mim shuddered. "There was so much damage to her psyche before... The constant pressures of her duties for Atherton, the punishments and tortures she suffered were terribly oppressive. The breaking and re-breaking of her personality through the brutalities she endured left her vulnerable to the possibility of complete fracture, if the stimulus was significant enough." He sighed, blue eyes griefstricken. "Clair has always been more fragile than she ever let on."

"Are you saying that this is...might be permanent?" Eric noted the man's reaction to the question and his heart sank at the signals he read in Mim's face and eyes.

Mim looked away after a long moment. "It's possible, Inspector," he admitted. "And entirely probable."

"She was fine... I mean, she knew me before the surgery, Mim." The policeman's protest was raw with disbelief. "She spoke with me, she knew who I was..."

Mim laid a tentative hand on Eric's arm. "I know, Inspector," he soothed. "But then a great many things happened all at once. For months, Clair has had the baby to hope for. She was probably on sensory overload, either at the thought that she'd miscarried or from the actual delivery. Add to that shock learning it lived then handing it over to you. Inspector, it is likely that the resultant emotional devastation forced her to retreat to a point in her life where she was more in control."

"But, Mim, from what she's told us, she had no control of her life under Atherton…" Stephen observed gravely.

"Of course she didn't," Mim agreed. "Under Atherton's roof, she was completely at his whim. Her body was under his dominion at all times. However, despite her physically precarious position, she had complete emotional self-control. No one touched her heart. They could overpower her physically but her will to survive gave her an edge over the traumas inflicted on her. It gave her an ace in the hole, so to speak."

Bram scowled at his lover. "Clair has always been too strong to break, pet."

Mim shook his head. He was not the shy therapist from Gallowsmere now, his attitude was certain and professional as he spoke to the beautiful man he loved. "Not true, Bram. You weren't with her after the acci... when she was so gravely hurt before. Stephen and I were there, we saw her in the throes of her healing. The shooting in London shattered her reserves completely the first time; all of her emotions broke free of her control and ran her over. Part of her healing came from Stephen's care." He sighed. "She gained back more of her strength with Eric's help, then another measure when she got you and Caine back. She needed you both to complete her, lovey, to make her stronger still, to make her feel safe in her new life by having the very best of her old life returned to her."

Eric interrupted. "But you said that she's in control now..."

"She is, Inspector. Despite the things that happened to her under the old man's care, Clair understood the rules and lived by them as best as she could." Mim sank into a chair, staring up at Eric sadly. "She couldn't always protect her body but she could protect her heart. She was in complete emotional control, utterly isolated emotionally." He sighed. "We've discussed it before. Perhaps Clair was happiest then in a manner of speaking, without the complexities of emotional or moral choices. Being a Fingerman bitch possessed certain freedoms balanced with certain rules that made everything simpler, more black and white."

"She's not a bitch," Eric protested, his tone lowering dangerously. "She is warm, loving..."

"You didn't feel that way after the drugging, Inspector, and you left her behind because you couldn't live with that side of her personality." Mim said sharply, making Eric flinch away from the accusation. The smaller man's voice softened as he continued almost apologetically. " After you left her, she withdrew from her brothers, from any meaningful interactions as she wrapped herself in her grief. She accepted her part of driving you away and took the pain as her punishment for her past. When she learned about the baby, she poured herself, all her energy and all her will, into making the baby survive full term, despite her own discomfort. She was in a lot of pain during the last few months..."

"What?" Bram demanded, frowning. Mim didn't answer, looking to Eric again as he continued.

"Although she has always tolerated pain well, she couldn't always hide it. Most of it was physical, however. She believed wholeheartedly in giving the child up to you, Inspector, knowing it would be your last bit of unfinished business with her."

"So she's forgotten the baby, me, her life after Stephen rescued her…"

"She would have to forget to make herself survive the surrender, wouldn't you think? This wasn't her first pregnancy and she barely survived losing the last one, which came from a savage rape. How much harder for her to lose a child made in mutual affection, Inspector? She's gone back to a time when she knew the ground rules and had some power over them, when she wasn't at the mercy of her grief and regret."

Eric considered Mim's words carefully, thinking over the possibilities. Finally he lifted his head, mouth firming into a determined line.

"How can I get her back?" he asked quietly. Mim nodded .

"You can make her fall in love with you, your son, or both of you, if you work at it." Mim shrugged. "If that is what you want, of course."

Eric hesitated. Clarissa as she was now made him a little afraid, she was dangerous. He didn't like the idea of subjecting their son to the sharp and antagonistic personality she displayed; she seemed unpredictable in the extreme and that wasn't safe for the baby, was it? How could he justify exposing his infant to the vicious-tongued woman who didn't remember having a child? She didn't welcome Eric's appearance in her room, how would she take the news that he'd fathered the baby on her?

Yet... He wondered.

Despite her earlier rejection, this Clarissa was strong and fierce, with a sharp tongue and every bit the temper to match his if he were truly angry. There was no sign of the wounded girl he'd bedded with such care and tenderness before. It would be a challenge to bring her to his bed while she was independent, exciting to tame her to his touch when she wasn't grieving for losses that she'd believed complete...

How much more intense would his hold on her be, were he to make her need him when she was so self-sufficient and isolated?

The idea appealed to him but it raised another set of questions in his mind. This Clarissa, no, Clair had never loved him. She wasn't the person he'd touched in the dark bedroom, comforted through her nightmares or worshipped with his body. She'd never needed him. Whatever his memories of their affair, she was a blank slate who didn't share them. If this change was permanent, could he live with it?

If he left now, she'd be none the worse for it. If he walked away, took their son with him, Clarissa would continue on. She would never miss what she didn't remember. His heart ached at the idea that his girl would never miss him or their child, might never know that she was loved for herself alone.

If she never became the woman he'd loved again, could he stand the difference?

He stared absently into space as he contemplated the possibilities, settling on the one thing that he knew for certain.

If he walked away from the slender second chance that fate offered him, he would never heal from the loss of her.

"How should I proceed?" he asked thoughtfully. "How would I approach this Clair, do you think, to make her love me again?"


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Notes: Hello, again. We are having a blast, people, and we hope that you are too. By the way, I have never read the GN, so if it has a name for Eric's wife and child, I don't know them. Instead I have supplied my own names for them both. If they're wrong, I heartily apologize.

Disclaimers: Preceding pages have proclaimed possession of proprietary property permanently placed with primary purveyors of the pantheon of V. Pathetically we put pen to paper and pose a play they never approved for people we don't possess.

**Before Burlwood**

Clarissa did not leave the hospital as quickly as she planned to. Her overall physical health was not up to par and her doctors refused to release her from hospital. The news turned Clarissa's already uncertain temper into a pyrotechnic display of fury.

The doctor visited her on the third day of her confinement and reviewed her chart. Clair watched him silently, her grim expression making the man fidget as he paged through the file.

"Well, Miss Avery, how are you feeling this morning?" he asked politely, never lifting his eyes from the nurses' notes.

"I am ready to return home." she replied sharply. He flicked a glance toward the untouched tray of breakfast foods and she grimaced at his transparent skepicism. "I am not hungry this morning. I can eat at Burlwood later."

The doctor pursed his lips. "That won't do, Miss Avery," he chided. "You aren't quite well enough to leave hospital, I fear, and your appetite does not support your healing. I fear that you will be with us a bit longer yet."

Clair's eyes turned icy with rage. "I do not wish to remain here," she said silkily. "You do not wish me to leave but I do not think that you understand that I have things to see to. I have to go home. Today."

The doctor shook his head, made a notation on the chart before closing it and studying her across the distance of the bed. "With all due respect," he said quietly. "You are my patient and I take my duties as your physician quite seriously. You are not improving, Miss Avery. In point of fact, you are in much the same condition as you were three days ago. I cannot allow you to leave until I am certain that you are healing. As you will not eat and you seem to get little rest, I will have to insist that you remain in bed until I can see some sign of improvement."

Clair leaned back on her pillows, her mouth thinning to a hard line. "I will sign myself out against medical advice," she announced. The doctor lifted a brow in inquiry.

"And you think that it will be that simple, do you?" he asked. "You may attempt it, but I fear that you will not succeed. You are in my care, Miss Avery, and I will do whatever it takes to prevent you from injuring yourself further. Up to and including having you declared mentally unfit, if the situation requires it." He smiled at her, a small triumphant smile. "I should have no difficulty in getting an injunction to keep you here."

The woman on the bed stared at him, her face turning white with rage. "Get out," she hissed, glaring at him. "I don't want you for a doctor any longer."

"You aren't employing me," he advised her smugly. "And as I don't answer to you, you haven't the right to fire me."

For a moment they stared at one another then Clair reached out for her breakfast tray. With a sudden savage movement, she flipped the cooling food at him, smiling as the watery eggs splattered on his clean white coat before he could evade them. The doctor skipped back, too late, and his smile vanished as he faced her rage.

"Nicely done," he mocked her. "I shall remember not to visit you when you've been served a meal you won't eat. Other than that, what has this display won you?"

"Personal satisfaction," she answered, her voice breathy with pain but she still smiled coldly. "At least three times a day, I shall know you won't be coming in here, won't I?" She held herself still as he turned away and stalked out the door, then she sank back against her pillows. "Bastard," she snarled but her voice was weak.

Caine leaned toward her, having stood silently by while his sister argued with the doctor. He peered at her. "Are you alright?" he asked her softly. She shook her head and he covered her hands with his own. "Did you hurt yourself, Clair?"

She shook her head again and he sighed. "You did, goose, and what did it get you? You won nothing."

"I won't stay here," she protested. "I want to go home, Caine."

"And you will, Clair," he promised. "You need to heal, like the man said. To do that, you need to eat..."

"When I am home again," she snapped, pulling away from him. "Stop mothering me, Caine! I'm not a child anymore."

"Then don't act like one." He stepped back and seated himself in the chair beside the bed without another word, leaving her to sulk in silence.

It was colossally bad timing that Eric chose at that moment to arrive at the door. He opened the door and immediately ducked as a beaker of water flew at his face. The small pitcher smashed into the doorjamb, bursting and splashing it's contents over him. "What the hell?" he demanded. Clair snarled at him from the bed, her face full of fury.

"Get out," she ordered him, trembling with anger. "I don't want you here. I don't know you, I didn't invite you, get the fuck out and don't come back." She pointed at Caine. "Make him leave."

Caine eyed Eric silently then looked at Clair without batting an eyelash "I'm here to protect you," he said gravely. "But I'm not hospital security. You want him gone, you make him go."

Clair stared at her brother, eyes narrowing on his face. For a moment, they regarded one another silently and Clair finally nodded. "Very well," she said softly. "Point taken, brother mine." She pressed for the nurse, holding the button down until a woman shouldered past Eric. The patient turned to the new arrival, extending a rigid finger in Eric's direction. "This man is not allowed in my room anymore," she commanded. "I demand that you bar him at once."

Before Eric could protest, the nurse dragged him from the doorway and back into the hall. He was shocked by Clair's actions and tried to push past the nurse. The woman caught his arm, not allowing him past. "I have every right," he began but she shook her head.

"Please," she said wearily. "Just leave her alone, won't you?" She offered him a faint smile full of regret. "I am sorry, Inspector Finch, but she's a foul-tempered patient and antagonizing her isn't doing anyone good. Just leave her be for a while. Once she's feeling a bit better, she'll rethink this."

Eric looked at the closed door beyond her and felt his heart tighten with rejection. Clair wouldn't let him visit her? What the hell was going on? The nurse held her position between him and the door, watching him silently. When he nodded and stepped back, the woman relaxed visibly.

"I am sorry," she repeated. "Give her a little time and she'll come around. You'll see."

Eric doubted it but contented himself with going to the nursery to soothe his wounded heart with the presence of his son.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Notes:

Disclaimers:

The Lady or the Tiger

Unfortunately Clair's body would support neither her rage nor her rush toward recovery.

An opportunistic infection set in, springing from her weakened state and causing her to run fevers. As treatment required a course of antibiotics and near-constant supervision, Clair was forced to cool her heels in her hospital bed as the medical staff attempted to bolster her immune system enough that she could be released. She was a bad tempered patient, not so sick that she was completely or constantly incapacitated but not well enough to get up and wander the corridors to relieve her boredom. Her brothers remained with her constantly in shifts, taking the brunt of her anger while providing her with a sense of security.

Eric didn't attempt to visit Clarissa after she had had him barred from her room.

Instead of running the gauntlet of nurses and orderlies that had orders to keep him away, Eric spent hours with his infant son in the nursery. He tried to focus on the baby, but his thoughts drifted often to the woman on another floor who had given birth to the boy and still didn't remember the event. He poured his love into the baby and wished all the while that he could share it with Clarissa as well.

Mim found him there one afternoon a few days after his exile. The therapist's soft blue eyes warmly observed Eric with his son. "Good day, Inspector," he said, when Eric welcomed him into the small room. "The little man is getting bigger every day."

Eric grinned proudly. "Yes, he is. He'll be ready to leave here soon, he's doing so well." His smile faltered when he thought again of Clarissa still ailing in her hospital room. Mim nodded and took a seat opposite Eric.

"I was just coming to see Bram," he told the policeman. "He's with Clair until Caine comes in at midnight and I wanted to keep him company. I thought that I would stop in and see the baby..." He hesitated. "Have you chosen a name for him yet?"

Eric looked down at his son guiltily. "I... can't. I don't know what Claris...Clair would have liked for him..."

"Well," Mim sighed. "You will eventually have to make the choice, I think."

They were silent for a few heartbeats before Eric looked up from the baby to meet Mim's gaze. "You don't think she'll ever remember, do you?" The question hung between them as Mim's expression turned sorrowful.

"I know that you have hopes, Eric, but I have never had a patient with as many issues as Clair has. It will be incredibly difficult for her to trust again, to reach out to someone past all her walls and defenses. I am afraid that she's lost too much ground and that it will prove too much for anyone to bring her back."

"Too much for me, you mean?"

"Too much for everyone," Mim clarified. "Even Clair has only so much endurance, Eric. She isn't as hard as she would like everyone to believe or as heartless. She's brittle, pulled together with sheer determination and terror. But then you know that already, don't you?" Mim wasn't being his usual fluttery self; here again was the serious professional whose knowledge of the situation was tempered by his familiarity with Clair. "Are you willing to suffer through her recovery, Eric? You saw only portions of her pain before and this would be quite...larger."

"She's worth it to me, Mim." Eric sighed as his son protested being shifted from lying down to being propped up for a burp. Patting the narrow back gently, he shook his head. "I'm afraid this," he indicated the baby with a nod. "Is all I can do. She won't allow me in to see her..."

"Is it in her best interest to keep you at arm's length, Eric? Do you think that Clair can be trusted to make wise choices presently?" The policeman snorted, shaking his head ruefully.

"Not by half, but I don't want to hurt her more by disregarding her wishes or her comfort."

"Then it will be a waiting game for you," Mim advised him gravely. "A long one, I suspect." He slid to his feet. "Good afternoon, Eric."

The policeman watched him leave, puzzling over Mim's last comment for a while. Finally he returned his son to the bassinet and studied the sleeping infant.

"Wish me luck, lad," he whispered and made his way to Clair's room.

At the door to Clair's room, Eric hesitated, one hand on the handle.

He felt anxiety in the pit of his stomach at the thought of intruding on Clair's privacy but a certain...excitement as well. She would not receive him willingly, he knew, but she was still the woman he loved and he wanted to see her. Firming his shoulders and hiding his nerves behind Evey's hated "police face", he pushed open the door and barged in to Clair's hospital room before he could change his mind.

Clair's head lifted sharply from her pillows, her brown hair hanging lifelessly around her drawn face. Her eyes were dull, shadowed with pain and illness, but as they took him in, they sparked to life. "Get out."

"Not today." Eric stepped closer to the bed, shoving his hands into his pockets and offering a polite smile. "Good afternoon, Clarissa. Are you feeling any better?"

She glared at him. Her cheeks were pink with fever and she laid back again before speaking. "Get out of my room," she said again. "I don't want you here."

"I would love to stay," he said, as though she'd invited him. "I was concerned that you haven't improved any, yet here you are, as lovely as ever." He stepped closer to the bed, catching sight of Bram and Mim on a sofa opposite the bed. The male Avery got to his feet and approached Eric, who felt a momentary concern that Bram would kick him out at Clair's request. Instead the handsome brother smiled brilliantly at the policeman.

"Good afternoon, Eric," Bram said, thrusting out a hand. Eric clasped it warmly.

"Hullo, Bram. Has your sister been monopolizing you all day?" He grinned at the tallest of the triplets, relieved that Bram was being cordial. "I was just in the neighborhood and thought that I might stop by and look in on your sister."

Bram's smile widened as he nodded. "Glad to see you, Eric. I'd heard that Clair banned you from the room. What a pleasant surprise to find that you are still willing to visit her!"

Clair uttered an oath, her voice venomous. "I told him to get out, Bram," she hissed. "Make him leave at once." Her brother ignored her.

"Clair has been so bored lately," he remarked, drawing Eric closer to the bed. "She hasn't any visitors save Mim, Caine or myself and I've grown concerned that all the tedium isn't good for her."

Clair glared at her brother. "I am not amused."

"Precisely my point, Clair, dearest." Bram flashed her a warm smile. "You need fresh perspectives, new interactions to stimulate your recovery. Don't you agree, Mim?"

Mim laughed delightedly. "Really, Princess, you should..."

"Don't call me that," she muttered, eyes rolling miserably. Mim waved her objection aside.

"You should be more open to widening your experiences, renewing old acquaintances and trying to regain the memories that you lost. Eric was your friend these past few months. He shares memories with us of who you were."

"I don't care," Clair complained. " I don't remember him. I don't want him here. I don't want company." She made a face. "I don't want his company."

Eric felt the expected stab of anguish at the cruel words but Bram's reaction was immediate. "Clarissa!" The handsome brother's voice cut like the crack of a whip in the quiet room. "That was uncalled for."

She almost cringed at his stern tone but the expression on her drawn face remained belligerent. "I didn't ask him to come here."

"But he did come, didn't he? And out of his affection for you despite your horrible attitude." Bram scowled at his sister. "I am appalled by your behaviour."

She turned her face away without bothering to reply. Bram shot a warning look toward Eric and reached a hand toward Mim. "I need to call Caine," he announced. "Mim, you wanted to get some coffee, didn't you? Clair, we are stepping outside for a few moments. Do you need anything?"

"No." The word was muffled but sullen. Eric frowned at Bram who shook his head.

"Come with us, Eric," Bram invited. "I apologize for Clair's nastiness but she still isn't over the fever which impedes her judgment."

"I'd like to stay," Eric said slowly, not glancing at the bed. "I know you've spent the whole day here and she's not comfortable alone. I'll keep watch while you take care of other things." Behind Bram, Mim nodded vigorously in approval. Eric waved them away. "Go on, Bram. I'll be fine."

The two men left the room and Eric sat down in a chair near the bed, looking at Clarissa's back. She faced away from him, mostly hidden by her blankets. Silence fell over the room. Eric's heart beat echoed in his ears as he wondered if Clair would always keep this awkward distance between them. He was so absorbed in thought that he nearly missed the soft sound that signaled that she was awake.

In the quiet, a tiny gasp of misery brought him instantly alert.

"Clarissa?" He leaned toward her with concern. "Are you alright?"

She didn't answer but the little noise was repeated. Eric waited to see what she would do or say. When nothing came from the rumpled blankets, he got up and approached the bed, looking down at her. "You aren't alone, Clarissa. I'm still here."

"I know." Her voice was thick with misery. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you still here?"

He sighed. "Just because you forgot me, I haven't forgotten you. We were... friends once." She stirred, her head turning toward him to reveal eyes glistening with tears. He offered her a faint smile. "I hope that we can be friends again, Clarissa." He wanted to catch her up, wrap her in his arms and love her until she soothed the dark hollow ache in his chest. She blinked up at him.

"I don't have friends." She fidgeted, pushing aside her blanket, as he noticed that her cheeks were pinker than before. "It's hot in here."

He reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, seeing her eyes widen at his boldness. "You're feverish again," he soothed her. "Would you like something to drink? A little ice?" She hesitated but her eyes were full of sudden longing. He hid his smile and poured her a cup from the little pitcher by the bed. When she reached out to take it, her hand shook. Eric gave her the cup, wrapped his hand over hers and steadied it as she took a sip. She closed her eyes, relaxing a little. "You need to rest, Clarissa."

"Hot," she muttered and fell asleep at once. Eric settled back into his chair to watch over her.

Mim and Bram hadn't returned when she startled awake a half hour later.

Eric had been drowsing lightly by the bed and her sharp movement brought him fully alert. Clarissa stared at him wild-eyed, her mouth half-open. "What's wrong, bhean?" he asked. She looked around dazedly, apparently not recognizing her surroundings.

"Grandfather's here," she whispered. "I...You...We have to leave..." She struggled to rise but her body wouldn't obey her. "It's not safe."

"He's not here," Eric reassured her, rising again to stand beside her. "You're safe, Clarissa. I'm here with you, I'll keep watch."

The dark brown eyes fastened on him, full of panic. "You can't fight the Shepherd," she told him wildly, her voice rough. "He'll bag you in a heartbeat. Let's hide in the priest hole, and V will come..." She laughed giddily. "We can have a tea party then and there will be biscuits with jam!"

Eric patted her hand gently, and she didn't seem to notice. "Leave me one of the knives we cut the bread with, lovey, so I can still cut throats if I must. It's so cold that I can't feel my hands." She caught his hand in hers and her touch burned him. "You're so cold. Is it because you're dead?" She brought his hands to her lips. "Can I be dead too?" Her breath fanned over his knuckles, heated by the fever burning inside her skin. Eric's breath hitched in his chest, heart hammering in horror. He turned his hand to cup her face and the gesture made her eyes widen in surprise before slipping closed.

"No, you have to live," he told her. "I want you to live."

"But I'm alone," she protested. "I miss you, a chroi."

The Gaelic endearment made his heart stutter sharply. "Clarissa?" No flicker of recognition crossed her dazed face and he leaned toward her. "Clarissa, do you remember me?"

"I want to be dead," she said again. "Please, don't leave me here, let me come with you."

She sounded so lost that he hurt for her."No, you have to live. I don't want you to die." He smoothed back her hair gently as she settled back against the pillows. "I want you to remember me, bhean. Please, remember me." His plea fell upon deaf ears as she fell back to sleep again. He felt better that she kept hold of his hand even in her sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: Working on the ensemble cast issues, I hope that this pleases you half as much as it does me.

Disclaimers: Eh, you know I don't possess the V-verse and VEV goodness that it contains.

Preparations

Burlwood:

Stephen studied the newly furnished nursery, his eyes hazel in the subtle lighting. Evey knew the expression on his face and went to him, looping an arm through his to press herself against his side.

"It's a lovely room," she said hopefully. Stephen looked down at her.

"But an evil house," he retorted. "This place reeks of my father's poison."

She didn't shudder but Evey's skin reacted, springing up in gooseflesh. "Let's not bring him up," she whispered, rubbing a hand over the little chill bumps. "This is a nursery, full of hope and optimism. We're looking toward the future, Stephen, not back at the past."

He shook his head, saying nothing but his expression was more than eloquent. Evey lifted her face, kissing his jaw. "There's always the chance that she'll remember..." she suggested, bringing her husband's attention back to her. He shook his head.

"Mim's explained that's not likely," he reminded her. "She's not the person she became after...that she was at Gallowsmere, Evey dearest, but the woman from the workroom." His wife averted her face at the reminder. "You have to remember that, Evey, or the difference will be too much."

"She'll come back to us," Evey said firmly. "She's not that person anymore."

"She is now." Stephen rubbed a hand over his face. "She's prepared to take over the Fingermen and to step into Atherton's shoes. She doesn't have any idea of what she's doing, Evey. The Elite will eat her alive." He looked around the room automatically, not really seeing the furnishings but something in his memory. "I have to protect her from this madness."

Before Evey could speak, the door behind them opened and Bram appeared in the room, his elegant shoulders bowed with weariness. "Uncle Stephen," he greeted his elder then caught sight of the room. "Oh my god," he whispered. His attractive face held a stunned expression. "You have been busy."

Evey smiled at the younger man. "Hullo to you too, Bram." He shot her an abashed smile.

"Sorry, Evey," he murmured. "I was just...surprised by the room. It's so clean and...pretty." He turned to Stephen. "Clair isn't going to be in hospital forever and I was worried about how everything was going. I see that you haven't let the grass grow under your feet."

"Hardly," Stephen countered. "How is Clair?"

"The fevers are still popping up," the young man answered. "There seems to be no other cause than her emotional distress and her general condition. She will eventually be released from hospital." Bram's shoulders lifted and fell again helplessly. "She still wants to come home to Burlwood." He smiled suddenly. "Good news is that Eric isn't banned from the room anymore."

"Oh?" Stephen perked up. "What's happened?"

"Clair's decided that the Inspector is mostly harmless." Bram grinned. "She's still in an awful mood, but the Inspector has gotten a reprieve and may attend her Majesty in measured doses."

"Well, that's something to celebrate," Stephen announced. "Good for Eric." He smiled at his wife. "I owe you," he told her. "You were right."

"Did you doubt it?" she teased. The former vigilante chuckled.

"I did or I wouldn't have bet against you." He wrapped an arm around his wife. "Lunchtime, dearest. Shall we go downstairs?"

The three of them left the nursery with it's bright interior and made their way down the long staircase to the ground floor. Stephen hesitated on the bottom step, noticing the door to the study. Evey felt the tension in his corded muscles and her fingers tightened on his arm. Bram noticed his Uncles' sudden silence and realized the cause immediately.

"I dare not test the door," the youth said softly. "I am sorry, Uncle Stephen."

"That was Atherton's lair," Stephen said thoughtfully. "All his secrets must be there, if they're anywhere." He frowned. "I hate the idea that we can't get in there, Bram. I'm sure that Atherton left information for his successor."

Bram eyed the study door balefully. "There are certain security measures in place," he said. "That would be set off if either the study or Grand... Atherton's suite upstairs is breached. I haven't the codes to negate them, Uncle Stephen, although I rather expect Clair does." He scowled. "Better leave them until she gets back and unlocks them than risk anyone in the house."

Stephen nodded. "Of course," he agreed but the regret in his voice was obvious. "I don't like the idea that we can't find out what exactly his plans were. I worry about what poison hides in there, Bram. Do you think Clair will give you the codes?"

"The system is primarily voice activated and there are no doubt codes to be entered as well. Even if she gave me the codes, I was supposed to be dead and I am certain that my access was stricken. We can't risk the safety of the people here at Gallowsmere." Bram shook his head. "Better to wait, Stephen." He turned toward the dining room and Stephen followed after a moment with Evey but the older man glanced back at the study one more time, a naked look of longing on his face.

-

-

-

Dom was back at his desk, working on a stack of case files when Eric came into the office. One look at the older man's haggard face brought the lad to his feet in alarm.

"Good God, Eric, what's happened to you?"

Without answering immediately, Eric crossed to his desk, opened the lower drawer and pulled out the half-full bottle of whiskey. "Lock the door, Dom. I need to talk to you…"

Dom obeyed quickly and they sat together, sipping the whiskey, while Eric filled Dom in on the events of the last few days. The younger man listened attentively as he nursed his whiskey then heaved a disbelieving sigh at the end.

"I don't know what to say, Eric. I mean, congratulations on the birth of your son, of course, but…She doesn't remember you or anything of her freedom at all?"

Eric shook his head. The whiskey's heat wasn't touching the ever-present chill in his heart. "Nothing, Dom. She's a different person, hard and angry. I don't know if I can reach her but I...I have to try." He closed his eyes. "I could have been with her this whole time if I'd stayed with her. Perhaps this wouldn't have happened if I had…"

Dom shook his head. "You can't think that way. You'll drive yourself mad with second guessing yourself. You taught me that, Eric. You taught me to trust my instincts and stand by them." He frowned over the problem. "So what are your plans now?"

"I'm taking a personal leave. I need to take care of the boy, his mother doesn't even know him, and I need to be with them both now." Eric gave his partner an apologetic smile. "I know you're just back from your honeymoon, lad, and this is throwing you in at the deep end…"

Dom shook his head. "It's fine, Eric. I'll manage well enough. You need to focus on your family. The baby won't suffer for this time but she will and you will. It's beyond important that you try to get her back if you can." He studied his friend. "I'm sorry, Eric. I would never have guessed that she was pregnant. She was so slender when I saw her at the wedding and then again that day at hospital."

"She's still underweight." Eric thought of how frail her hand had been in his after the surgery, how pronounced the bones in her back as she wept against him that day, his heart twisting at the memory. "We will be going to Burlwood for the time being. Stephen is taking control of the Fingermen issue for the moment, trying to delay the selection of the shepherd until Clarissa is healthier. If things start to go bad, I may call for backup, Dom."

"And I'll see that you get it, Eric." The younger man held out his hand and Eric clasped it warmly. "Go take care of your woman and your boy."

Eric left the police station a short while later and made his way to the hospital.

Clarissa was still livid whenever she was lucid enough to remember that the doctors would not release her. Her brothers accepted the brunt of her rages, assuring her that she needed the time to heal a bit more and not giving in to her verbal tirades as she tried to get her own way. Never truly welcomed by the patient, Eric was largely ignored when Clair was alert unless she was in a particularly bad mood then she would insult and snipe at him to make him leave. He'd followed her brothers' lead and been unmoved by tears or fury, presenting his cultivated false front of perpetual calm, which seemed to make him more or less uninteresting.

He wondered how she was feeling today as he stepped into her room.

His answer came at once when Bram looked up wearily to give a little shake of his head. Eric nodded in silent reply. From her bed, an awake, alert and annoyed Clair noticed the exchange, her expression darkening dangerously.

"What is it?" she demanded, glaring from one to the other. Eric lifted his brows in a curious expression.

"Bram was just informing me that you are still in a foul mood," he said lightly. "And that I can expect to feel the sharp side of your tongue the whole time I'm here."

Her eyes narrowed, the chocolate depths cold and unfriendly. "And why _are_ you here?" she asked sharply. For a moment he considered not answering but the need to push back overrode his common sense.

He smiled at her, a long slow smile. "Because I simply cannot find the high quality of verbal abuse I receive here anywhere else," he said pleasantly. Bram burst out laughing as Clair's eyes widened. Eric kept up the warm expression as he teased her. "Come now, Clair, you know it's true."

Her lips twitched toward a smile and he was heartened by it, even though the smile didn't fully appear. She turned her head away finally. "Very well, Bram," she said briskly. "Your relief has come and your watch is ended."

Bram got to his feet and bent over Clarissa to press a kiss on her cheek. "Caine will be here in a few hours, lovey. Try to leave a little skin on Eric, won't you?"

She refused to reply, turning to watch her brother leave with a longing expression that tugged at Eric's heart. She'd looked at him that way once. He took up the seat that Bram had vacated, as Clair turned her attention to him.

"Aren't you afraid I'll flay you?" she asked after a moment's silence. He smiled at her again.

"Not really." He leaned back comfortably. "Rather expect it, but not afraid of it."

"Hmm." She shifted position slightly and one of her pillows slipped out from behind her. He rose and retrieved it. For a moment they regarded one another before Eric spoke.

"Can you lean forward without help?"

She tried but the movement made her gasp in pain. "No," she admitted grudgingly. Eric reached his arm around her in an almost embrace, lifting her up gently to tuck the pillow behind her. As he settled her back, she looked up at him in a sort of strange surprise. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, dear lady," he said gallantly.

"I am no lady," she retorted. He smiled at her sadly.

"I'm not going to argue with you, Clair. Believe what you want." He returned to his chair. "Have you slept today? Did you eat?"

"What are you, my governess? Yes, of course I ate. And I…napped while Bram was here." The tone of her voice betrayed the lie. Eric sighed.

"Eating a bite or two will not give you the strength to heal, you know. And sleeping is when you actually sleep, not just lie very still and listen to the activity in the room."

Her eyes widened in dismay and her mouth opened silently. It was the second time in ten minutes that he'd surprised her. Eric lifted his brows. "Am I wrong?" he asked after a moment and her mouth closed. "You'd have been out of hospital before now if you'd do what you're supposed to. Eat, sleep, and grow stronger." He reached into his pocket as a nurse delivered a tray of food, knowing that the inevitable argument was coming.. Clair eyed the tray with distaste as the nurse fled.

"I don't want this." She pushed the tray away slightly. "It's unappealing."

"I will offer you something you do want to chase down what you don't." Eric held up a small object in his hand and the foil-wrapped block captured her complete attention. "Do you know what this is?"

"Chocolate?"

"Yes, it is." He continued talking to her seriously even as the wistful tone made him want to laugh. "If you'll eat a substantial amount of your meal, I'll give you the chocolate, Clair. I recall that you like it very much…"

She frowned at him. "How would you know that?" she asked suspiciously.

Eric sighed. "Your brothers have explained to you that you are missing time. You know that the world changed and, although you forgot those changes doesn't mean that you didn't live through them. You were part of them to a certain extent." He went though the litany automatically, reminding her of what she'd already been told over and over again. " After the party fell, after we became…friends; I took you to a sweet shop and chocolate was the only thing you wanted." He closed his eyes at the memory of her face when she first tasted the bittersweet. Longing cut him to the quick, a terribly sharp pain that he still wasn't used to.

"You don't like that memory." He opened his eyes to look at her.

"Why would you think that?"

"Your expression was…sad." She frowned at him. "Why?"

He debated his reply for a moment. "It was a very good day," he said at last. "But it hurts me because you don't remember it as well."

She kept staring at him, saying nothing. The brown eyes were full of confusion. Finally she pulled her tray closer, looking away. "I'll eat some of this," she said. "You will talk to me. Dinner without conversation is boring."

He watched as she picked up her fork and delicately sampled the main dish. He wasn't certain what captivated him more: the way she ate so carefully or the mouth that each bite disappeared into. He felt his heart skip a beat. She wasn't being deliberately antagonistic today, in fact she was being what amounted to cordial, and he considered it a vast improvement. She looked up expectantly and he realized he was supposed to be talking.

"What shall I talk about?"

She swallowed before answering. "Perhaps you'll tell me about the sweet shop."

He hesitated. "I don't know that it would be appropriate, Clair." She considered him carefully, setting down her fork.

"You must have something to say about it," she said in a speculative tone. "I know why my brothers come to stay with me, why Stephen comes, but not you. When I am rude to you, you come anyway and stay. You seek me out, Eric, and I don't know why. Is that why? Because it was a good day?"

He frowned. "Do you remember it?"

She shook her head. "No." She shrugged. "But then no one tells me anything, do they?"

She picked up her fork as he watched her, her movements as measured as an automaton's. Eric could sense that there was more that she would have said but she was restraining herself. "What do you want to hear?" he asked her, surprising himself. "You really don't listen to anyone, Clair. You have everything in your world set a certain way and if we upset that image, you explode into rage." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared up at her. "What do you want to us to tell you?"

"Nothing," she said, moving the food around on her plate. He scowled at the listless answer.

"It's not that simple, is it?" he demanded. "You don't even trust your brothers when they tell you about the past. I know that you won't trust me, that's a given, but Caine and Bram are... Well, they are everything to you, aren't they? You'd risk anything for them, give up everything you hold dear to protect them but you don't think that they will tell you the truth, do you?" Realization dawned over him and his mouth fell open. "That's it, isn't it? You think that they aren't as reliable as they were once, do you? You're testing them, testing everyone!"

Clair was staring at him, eyes sharp on his face. She lowered her eyes slowly. "This conversation is unproductive..."

"The hell it is," he growled. Getting to his feet, he paced the room. "For the past week, everyone has tried to make you comfortable with the changes that you don't remember and all the time you are weighing their words and judging them. What the hell is wrong with you, Clair?"

"I don't remember." She blinked at him, suddenly serious. "You all come in and you give me history lessons and expect me to accept them. I have no idea who is telling me the real truth, or a version I am supposed to believe, or if this is all some sort of exercise."

"Exercise?" He rounded, staring at her as though she's grown another head. "You think this is some sort of game?"

"If this were a black bag session, Eric," and his name was exaggerated. "I'd be told any sort of balderdash to make me believe the illusion of an altered reality. The television would pipe in what you wanted me to see, tell me that the year is different, the doctors would give me drugs to make me believe that time is moving faster or slower as would serve the scenario..." She laid down her fork, eyes narrowing on his face. "If you were my interrogator, you'd act much as you act now, wouldn't you? You are the one I don't know, whose role is unclear."

"I am not your interrogator." The idea repelled him. "I told you: Creedy is dead. There are no black bag operations any longer. London, all of England, is reasserting itself to how it was before Norsefire."

"So says you." She leaned back, watching him with eyes that were suddenly empty. "Why do you think that I should trust you more than I trust my brothers?"

Angrily he strode toward her to stop beside the bed. He caught her arm and lifted it to reveal the smattering of small circular scars on the inside of her arm. She stared at them for a long moment. Then he shoved up the sleeve of his coat and showed her the matching marks on his forearm. She eyed the two sets silently for a long moment, then looked up at him.

"Interesting pattern." she remarked calmly. "I take it they were done by the same person?"

"Yes." He ground out the word, angry at her calm.

She nodded, lifting her free hand to touch his scars thoughtfully with her fingertips. She frowned as she stared at them and he nearly shuddered as she stroked the scars, the sensation was strangely intimate. "These probably took…what? The better part of an hour? Careless. Very careless."

"Why would you say that?"

She lifted her eyes to him. "Let us assume that you are not an interrogator by trade, Eric, so I will explain in the simplest terms. One never does this sort of thing, the cigarettes, for more than five or ten minutes. It's merely a learning curve to discover how long your case is going to hold out. I would guess that you tolerated it well enough if it took so long."

"Did you, do you think?" He stared down at her, thinking of the damned chair and the sight of her burning her fair skin carefully to match the marks on him. She blinked, considering the question.

"I've had worse than this," she said at last. He nodded. At first she seemed puzzled at his expression then a little alarmed. "What is it?"

"I've said that to you before," he said regretfully as he realized she didn't recognize the statement. "For a moment, I thought…" His voice roughened and he shook his head. "Never mind, Clarissa." He tried to move away but she caught his wrist in her fingers, restraining him. "It's too... Let me go."

"Stay," she whispered. "I don't want…"

"You won't be alone," he promised. "I won't leave until Caine arrives."

Still she gripped his wrist, her long slender fingers surprisingly strong. He couldn't pull away from her, even in his anger unable to reject the first overture that she'd made since waking up without any memory of him. She continued looking at up him with an odd expression, something between her usual scorn and naked confusion. "Eric," she whispered, as though she'd never said the name before. He nodded silently and was disappointed when she blinked and the brown eyes were cold again. She released him as if his skin scalded her, lowering her head. "I want to go home."

"I know, but you need to heal first, Clarissa." he reminded her. "Just do what you are supposed to and you'll be home in a trice."

She pulled the tray close again and picked up her fork. She ate with automatic determination, chewing carefully and swallowing several bites before she looked up at him again. "If you are playing me for the fool, I will happily gut you with a dull knife, you know." She met his gaze with a level stare. "I am not someone to toy with, my lad. I have never been anyone's amusement for long."

"If I were playing you, Clarissa, I would deserve worse than being gutted. I would never consider you an amusement. You don't remember me and I accept that, but I remember you all too well. Eventually you must accept that there truly are things you don't remember at all." He reached out and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear fighting the urge to caress her cheek. "I'll hold my memories until you want them back if it's all the same to you."

"Fair enough." He could see that her body was taut with stress, telling him silently that she needed to be free of this confrontation. He changed the subject, to ease the tension and let her relax again.

"Eat a bit more then, and I'll give over the chocolate."

"How reasonable of you." She flashed him an insincere smile and returned to the tray.

He moved back to his chair, sinking down in it, his stomach fluttering with anxiety. So many things in this conversation were reminiscent of previous meetings, so many things Clarissa said that were paraphrases of earlier conversations. Surely that meant that some things were filtering back into her conscious mind? He would have to speak to Mim...

"May I ask you a question, Clarissa?" he said a while later, when she'd gotten her treat and was savoring it one tiny bite at a time.

"Yes?"

"If you ever had a child, what name would you chose for it?"

She lowered the candy, frowning. "I cannot have children."

"Suppose you could," he said slowly. "What would you name it?"

She considered the question. "Boy or girl?"

"Either. Both."

She picked up the candy bar, turning it in her fingers. "I suppose I might have chosen Mari for a girl, after my sister. A boy…Harder choice there, but I think Anthony Avery, for one of my brothers." She frowned at him. "What would you name a child, Eric?"

"Mari's a fine name," he said slowly. "And I like Anthony. I had a son a long time ago. His name was Ian."

"Was?" She put the candy down again. "I'm sorry. He died young?"

"Yes, he and his mother were killed in a riot years ago." Eric sighed, looking down.

"You were married, were you? I never thought that of you." He looked at her and her face was a mask suddenly, cool and distant, revealing nothing of what was going through her mind. "What was your wife like? Was she nice? Or pretty?"

The question was casual, almost too casual.

Eric closed his eyes as if in thought but it was really to keep the speculative gleam in his eyes from showing. "Jenny was beautiful, with blonde hair and blue eyes, but not vain. She did a lot of community work then devoted herself to Ian after he was born."

"So, nice _and_ pretty." Clarissa leaned her head back, closing her eyes. "You must feel her loss deeply to have never married again."

"Yes, I miss her," he agreed. "But I considered marrying again."

"Oh?"

"I met someone but they…hurt me and we broke it off. When I thought we were going to patch it up, she disappeared."

"Black bagged?"

"Nothing like that, no. She just went away." He shrugged. "Nothing I could do about it."

There was a long silence from her. Eric opened his eyes a tiny bit to see her face. She was frowning, her attention focused on pleating the bedsheet at her waist with her fingers. "I'm sorry," she said thoughtfully before looking toward him again, brown eyes troubled. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have…"

"Wouldn't have what?"

"I didn't know you were grieving." The words were simple. "I might have been nicer to you."

"Really? Do you think you might have been?"

"Probably not," she admitted after a moment. "But it's the thought that counts, right?"

The hopeful question pulled a low laugh from him. She was startled at it, enough to laugh as well, her hand rising automatically to smother the sound. "Please, don't. I like it when you laugh," he said to her warmly. "Even if it's me you're laughing at." She grinned at him suddenly, a rare real smile that made his heart turn in his chest. "Ah," he exclaimed softly. "There you are, Clarissa. The real you, not the woman you need people to think you are."

She seemed startled by his comment and shook her head. "Don't believe it, Eric. I am exactly what I am, nothing more and nothing less. Don't start thinking that I'm hiding some fainting flower behind my Fingerman façade. You'll be sadly disappointed."

He pulled his chair closer to her bed. "I can wait for you, Clair, to figure out who you are when all is said and done." He noticed that she was getting tired; her face was starting to get the pinched look that came when the pain was getting bad. "Do you want the nurse?" He knew she would refuse. She couldn't bear to be helpless unless one of her brothers was nearby.

She bit her lip, nodding, which shocked him. He reached for the call button and her hand closed over his. "Don't leave me."

"Not until Caine comes," he promised. She frowned at the words.

"Don't go without waking me." Her fingers tightened on his. "I don't… I'd rather know when you left."

He turned his hand in hers until their palms were pressed together. "I won't," he promised. She nodded and leaned her head back against the pillows to wait for the nurse.

She didn't let go of his hand even after the pain meds took effect and she fell asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Notes: There's a strong possibility that this story will drive me mad. Stronger possibility that it's too late...

Disclaimer: Not mine. No matter what I want, the truth is unshakable.

**Interlude**

He watches her sleep.

He knows the lines of her face, the smooth brow and sweetly curved cheek half concealed by an errant lock of her hair. One ear peeps slyly through the brown tangles as though waiting for his voice. The smooth column of her throat sweeps his eye down to the bare white shoulders, lower still to the waiting barricade of the bedsheet that covers the rest of her...

He sighs, thinking the sheet no villain in causing him frustration. His memory is eager to supply the contours of her body and the images taunt his control. Either he trusts them or he does not. Will he reach out and pull the sheet back to ascertain that his memory does not play him false? Or will he trust that catalog of her beauty and simply admire the mental pages?

In the moonlight filtering through the window, her skin is delicately silvered, the highest points shining like alabaster, the hollows dark and mysterious when the light does not trespass. She is perfect, as she has always been, and he smiles in the silence, knowing her for his own. He adores her and always will, he accepts that this as his due. As he watches, her fine brows knit into a faint frown and she grimaces for a mere moment but it makes him lean closer. What dreaming danger has discomfited her?

As his face comes closer to hers, she shivers, the distress deepening as she senses the figure nearby. She whimpers, slender fingers flexing as though to ward off a blow. Her fear goads his temper against whatever evil is in her dreams.

He will defend her.

Into the delicate curve of her ear, he whispers to her.

Instantly the tiny frown vanishes, replaced by a far lighter expression and she utters a soft sound. It is a moan but not of distress... more a vocal appreciation of his nearness that fills him with delight. He presses a kiss upon her ear to seal in his whisper before resting his cheek against hers, eyes closed, to lose himself in her scent.

Her slumbering body melts against his. This is one reason that he loves to hold her in the dark, when she is asleep, and her body's instinct is free to react as it will. She smells like amber and sandalwood, the perfume tantalizing his nose and awakening his body...

No, he chides himself in the silence. She is weary and needs to rest.

Despite those good intentions, his nose burrows closer to the strong graceful throat, ferreting out the pulse point where her scent originates. It is stronger than the perfume she wears, the sweet scent of her skin, the vibrant essence of her...It calls to him without words, so loudly that he cannot ignore it, intoxicating, irresistible, invigorating...

She stirs and he feels her fingers flex against his skin, the movement deliberate this time.

"Just kiss me already," he hears her say and the order is no hardship.

Joyfully he presses his mouth to hers and is rewarded with another rich purr of contentment. When he pulls back, he finds her watching him from slitted eyes.

"I wondered if you were ever going to do that," she whispers.

"I was making plans, dearest," he assures her. She chuckles, reaching out for him.

"Fill me in on your plans," she teases, pulling him closer.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Notes: We really don't have much to say. Thank you to our reviewers. Your feedback makes this little endeavor worth it. We're grateful that you take the time to comment.-- We hope that you're enjoying the rewrite.

Disclaimer: You already know what we're gonna say. We don't own them, we make nothing from this story. Please don't sue us.

**Burlwood**

Seven days later:

Clarissa was finally being released from hospital and Eric wondered how the news would alter their already fluctuating relationship.

During the visits that followed the chocolate bribe, their exchanges had become less adversarial. During the hours Eric spent at Clair's bedside, they talked about any number of subjects, even volatile topics, and Clair demonstrated a keen interest in a number of things that surprised Eric. Having never really known Clarissa before the shooting in London, Eric found her to be well-taught and intelligent. She treated him more courtesy than before, although she still had moments when her moods overran her capacity for politeness. Because he'd come to enjoy their conversations, the news that she was coming home to Burlwood made him worry that the peace between them might not survive the transition.

As he entered the hospital room, she noticed him and smiled brilliantly.

"I'm going home today!" she announced gleefully.

"So I'd heard." He came over to her bed, realizing suddenly that they were alone. "Where is Caine?"

"Flirting with some chit at the desk." She shook her head. "I'm better, Eric. I needn't be watched all the time." He gave her polite leer.

"But it's such fun," he protested teasingly.

"You've got serious masochistic tendencies, Mr. Finch." She laughed at his expression. "Perhaps you should talk to Mim about them?"

"No, thank you. I'll keep them to myself for a while." She was far more vibrant today, big brown eyes full of life. He liked seeing her so relaxed, her skin still pale but no longer drawn and pinched. She was already dressed for traveling, her outfit a comfortable frock that emphasized her femininity, and he thought that she was looking more robust. Her appetite had finally come back and she was eating more. "You look very pretty today."

She blushed faintly. "Thank you." After a moment, she continued. "I suppose that you'll be glad to have an end to watching out for me."

He reached out to her then, his hand inviting hers, fingers closing around hers warmly. "I enjoy watching out for you," he confessed. "I couldn't help you in any other way."

Her fingers squeezed his. "It makes me feel… oh, I like that you feel that way." Her voice trailed off as she stared at their clasped hands for a long moment before looking up suddenly. "Eric, are you…are you involved with anyone?"

His heart jumped at the blunt question. "No, not presently. Why do you ask?"

"I don't poach," she said gravely. "If you are involved, I'll give you space at Burlwood. If you aren't…." She broke off, lifted her chin defensively. "Well, I rather like you."

"I rather like you as well." He admitted it without a trace of levity, although his heart was suddenly light. She searched his face.

"You are aware that my interests are personal and I will not even consider you for placement as Shepherd?"

"I don"t want to be shepherd, Clarissa." He sat down on the edge of the bed, his head level with hers, giving her a full view of his face. "I don't particularly want to you to be shepherd either, but I accept that you feel you must fulfill your obligations."

She smiled at him, a somber smile, but left her hand in his. Eric studied her face, pleased that she didn't look away or pull back from him. Her eyes were the same sweet brown as haunted his dreams, her fingers twined with his... He could almost convince himself that this was his Clarissa except that she was stronger than she'd been when he came to her at Gallowsmere. Clair wasn't passive, wasn't in need of protection or coddling... She expected no quarter and gave none.

Her eyes warmed as he watched her, the brown simmering with emotions as her lips parted. Slowly her free hand lifted to his cheek, her fingers soft against his skin, slightly cool as they traced the line of his jaw. Eric caught his breath, captivated by the gesture's intimate invitation. Carefully she stroked his face, exploring the line of his lips, the point of his chin, and the outer edge of his ear.

When he didn't pull away, she grew bolder. She slid her fingers upward into the soft dark hair at his temple. He shivered under the familiar touch, eyes closing involuntarily in pleasure. His reaction made her give a soft little sound, something between a sigh and a moan, as her hand tugged him closer still. He obeyed her silent invitation, leaning nearer willingly.

When she touched her lips to his, he gasped silently, his heart melting at the taste of her mouth.

She kissed him with a deliberate thoroughness that spoke of her intent to wring every bit of pleasure from the caress. He let her control it, afraid to break the spell of her mouth on his even as he wanted more. The moment her tongue passed over his lips, he opened his mouth to her. She accepted the invitation and the kiss deepened until Clarissa pulled back with a satisfied sigh. "I liked that."

Eric stayed very still. "Do you think," he said very slowly. "That we might try that again?"

Clarissa's smug expression faltered. "What's wrong?"

"That's how you kiss me," he told her. "I'd like to kiss you this time."

She offered him her lips trustingly. He put an arm around her to pull her against his chest before he lowered his mouth over hers. The urge to possess her warred with his fear of frightening her and he tried to keep the kiss a little more reserved than his body demanded it be. Despite his control, he found himself threading his fingers through her hair, holding her so that his mouth could explore hers fully. To have her in his arms after so long apart was torment to him but also balm to the raw places in his soul. When he finally drew back, they were both breathless.

"Oh." Clarissa looked a little dazed. Her eyes drifted closed. "That was really... good."

"How good?" he asked, unable to resist the impulse. She opened her eyes again and they were darker than usual as she stared at him.

"Better than chocolate," she whispered. He grinned at the comparison.

"Fewer calories too."

"Does this mean you won't mind me stalking you at Burlwood?" He nearly laughed at the question. His body was hard and hungry for more and she was concerned that he might find her interest troublesome?

"I'll paint a bulls-eye on my body to make it easier to find me."

She smiled at him. "That's an intriguing offer." She moved her hand from the side of his face to lay it over his heart. As always, he felt it jump at her touch, the tell-tale skip that came whenever she touched him, and she smiled. "I intend to pursue you, Eric." His heart throbbed at the declaration and she looked up at him. "Does that mean you agree to be pursued?"

"I've no intention of running," he replied sincerely.

"Ah, that won't do," she chided. "Pursuit requires that one of the parties must be the hunted and one must be the hunter."

"Perhaps we can take turns," he suggested. "You can chase me on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I'll chase you on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Will that work?"

"Hmm." She was holding back a laugh, but her eyes were bright. "What about Sundays?"

"Day of rest. We'll just be together on Sunday, Clair." He cupped the side of her face. "I like the idea that you'd want to chase me but I'm more than willing to surrender to you, you know."

Her expression turned dreamy, the brown eyes softening to that perfect shade of bittersweet that made him remember hours spent in her arms. She licked her lips. "I've never been pursued, not by someone who wanted me for myself."

He frowned at the thought. As beautiful as she was, she didn't think that she was desirable without something to sweeten the deal? He couldn't imagine anything that was more valuable than the woman sitting here with him, couldn't imagine anything he'd want that was worth more than the touch of her hand or the taste of her mouth. "I want whatever you'll give me."

She smiled up at him. "We'll see," she told him. "Although you don't know me well enough to know if that's true, it's flattering to think you might mean it."

Before Eric could answer that, Caine came back into the room. His muscular body was dressed in leather trousers and a biker's jacket, the sleeves cutaway to reveal his massive biceps,making him look rough and dangerous. As he took in the way they were positioned, the big man's habitually arrogant expression faltered. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked earnestly, pausing in the doorway.

"No, Caine," Clair reassured him. "All declarations have been made." Her brother glanced at Eric for his opinion, a concession that was new to the policeman. The older man nodded to the younger one.

"Is everything in order to take Clarissa home?"

Caine nodded. "Yes. The sister will be in with the discharge papers in a moment." He circled the bed to stand on the side opposite Eric. "It's a simple transport, Clair. I'll be acting as escort on my bike. Eric will manage the actual transport in his car. Bram and Mim are already at Burlwood, waiting with Stephen and Evey."

"Ah, yes," Clarissa mused. "The aunt I haven't met yet." She didn't sound impressed. "And their child, no?"

"Yes," Caine hesitated, looking uncharacteristically concerned. "You recall that Evey remembers you, Clair? We talked about it before, that there are people who knew you that you've forgotten."

"I remember the conversation," she said sharply, waving him off. "Just don't expect me to be familiar with them, Caine. As Burlwood is my home, I will act as I wish." She glanced toward Eric, her irritation softening. "Will you be in residence as well?"

"Yes, I've a room already." Clair's brows lifted, her head tilting slightly.

"Which one?"

Caine answered her. "The brown room."

"Oh, no, the brown room, Caine? Not the green room?"

Caine's reaction was odd, he glanced at Eric speculatively. "It can be arranged, of course, but shouldn't you ask him first?"

A smile played across his sister's lips. "Ah, perhaps. What's today?"

"Thursday."

She laughed lightly. "Then he can decide if he wants the room when we got to Burlwood." She noticed the curious expression on Eric's face. "No, no," she scolded. "There will be no bias, Eric. Caine will show you the room when we get home. You can opt to accept it or decline it."

The nurse came in with the discharge orders and all personal conversation ceased.

-

-

-

Riding in Eric's car, Clarissa kept gawking out the window, noticing a thousand little changes in London. She was very quiet, her hands clenched on her lap until Eric laid an arm across the seat and let his fingers touch her shoulder lightly. She was very still. "Are you alright?" he asked her.

"It's all different," she whispered.

"We didn't lie to you, Clarissa. When Norsefire fell, there were a great many changes."

"There are so many colors, so many people!"

"This is how London was before Sutler," he told her. "There are no curfews, no Ears scanning the city for subversion and no Fingermen policing the streets."

"Then who keeps the peace?" She glanced at him, frowning. "There's nothing out there but Chaos."

"Not Chaos, Clair: freedom. This is what Norsefire tried to obliterate from England: it's vibrancy, it's life, it's freedom." He didn't understand her confusion. "The police are responsible for protecting the peace again, of course. England outlasted Norsefire and is remembering herself."

Clair shook her head. "If this is the result, she should have kept forgetting," she muttered. "Small wonder the flock is scattered, if the shepherd abandoned them to this without safe conduct." She shook her head. "How strange it all is, Eric!"

He realized suddenly that she had never lived without Norsefire's influence. Her whole life had been wrapped up in the party, living under Atherton's rule and conforming to his dictates. She had no point of reference to compare the old London to the new. To her, the old London was a police state, run by Fingerman. This new one was bound to be confusing to her at best, hostile at worst.

"I'll be glad to be home again," she said, breaking the silence. "No matter what else may change, Burlwood never does."


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Notes: This is the continuation of the Avery's lives after the fall of Norsefire and Parliament. It is the last of the trilogy, the final story of V's life after the Vendetta... I hope that it pleases you. I enjoyed myself in the writing of it and was the richer for the experience, I assure you.--edit completed 08/19/08...rewritten for storyline purposes.ES

Disclaimers: I own nothing, sad to say, with the exception of a strange imagination that gives me no peace. I bow to the creators of the v-verse and wish I had been born one of them so that I could make money on this venture. Sigh.

**Home is where you wear your hat...**

(Apologies to Buckaroo Banzai)

When they entered the gates of Burlwood, Clarissa sat a little straighter. Her face was no longer animated; a wary look was in her eyes as she took in the house. She saw that the house was as it always had been and she was silent, a fact that made Eric anxious.

"Is something wrong?" he asked quietly.

"No." She flicked him a cool glance. "I'll know more when I go inside." He brought the car to a halt near the front steps and came round the car to hand her out. She took his hand and stepped out of the car, straightening to her full height. Caine had parked his motorcycle and joined them at the foot of the steps.

"Are you ready, Clair?" the brother asked. She lifted her chin.

"No time like the present, Caine." She stepped forward and ascended the steps with graceful purpose. Her slender back was ramrod straight, the long brown hair braided into a queue that made her look prim. She opened the door and stepped inside. The foyer looked no different to her.

Her attention was immediately drawn to the heavy oak doors on the left of the foyer. They were dark and imposing, as forbidding as the gates of hell. Clair ignored the rest of the house, moving through the open lobby toward the study. The doors were locked. Her eyes narrowed as she pressed her thumb to the electronic biometric panel and keyed in her pass code. When she touched the handle again, it turned for her. She opened the door wide and walked into the darkened interior.

"Lights," she commanded. The lamps turned on at once.

The study was full of leather-covered chairs and rich cherry woods, dark and gleaming under a heavy layer of dust. Clair shivered as she remembered the room during her grandfather's reign, with the hard-eyed Elite standing around like vultures looking like for prey. Never had she entered this room without knowing that life and death decisions were being made. She noticed the portrait over the fireplace and grimaced at it, hating the false image of familial unity it represented. Atherton's eyes bored into her from the portrait, full of superiority and silent judgment. Even his portrait seemed to control the room, as he had in life, seeing everything, aware of everything happening in his presence. She looked away uneasily.

Clarissa walked the length of the room, fingers trailing over the furnishings, leaving tracks in the dust that covered the room. The dust was annoying but reassuring. No one had been here in some time, which meant that the security protocols were probably still in place. She smiled faintly. No other room in Burlwood possessed the technical features of the study, with the exception of Atherton's suite, and there were valid reasons for it. The cost had been astronomical to outfit the study with its state of the art systems in video and security but Atherton had liked his little toys. A master of manipulation, a devious man, a cruel and controlling martinet… Clarissa hoped he really was dead, glancing again at the portrait.

She heard Caine clear his throat and turned to see him standing with Eric in the doorway.

"May we enter?" her brother asked. She shook her head.

"Not yet," she said, thinking that she would have to update the security files to allow him access. "Is Jerica still on staff? Or Amelia?" She came back to the door, wiping her fingers free of dust. Caine nodded. "Have one of them clean this room at once. It's not suitable as it is and I'll be spending time here soon." She stepped back into the foyer and closed the door behind her. "That can wait for another day." She put her thumb over the pad and locked the door.

"Clair!" Bram's voice rang out in the hall and she lifted her head to see him coming down the stairs, Mim in tow. Her brother hurried to join her, putting his arms around her gently. "You're back!"

She leaned against him, still grateful for his presence. "Hello, love," she whispered against his cheek. "It's good to be home."

Mim smiled at her from around Bram's shoulder. "You look fabulous, Clair. How are you feeling?"

She nodded at the slender man. "I feel human again," she replied and glanced around. "The house looks in good form. How many rooms are in use?"

"I took back my old room," Bram told her, smiling. "Caine is in th western wing, Eric has the brown room and Stephen and Evey are in the Peach suite as it is adjacent to the nursery..."

"Ah." Clair digested the thought. "I had forgotten the peach suite...Well, that will be fine, I expect. Are they already here?" Bram nodded.

"Uncle Stephen is upstairs with Evey and the babies…" Bram hesitated. "The baby's nanny. Shall I fetch them for you?"

She felt her brothers' tension. Something wasn't quite right. She tilted her head. "What is it?" she asked.

Bram looked at Caine and the silent exchange bypassed her. She stiffened slightly, eyes cooling at she noted her exclusion and a sense of dread swept through her. "What aren't you telling me?"

Bram focused on her again, looking slightly abashed. "Sorry, Clair. We weren't certain how you'd feel about the baby," he hurried to tell her, stammering slightly. "Given your condition."

She narrowed her gaze and stepped past him without comment. With measured steps, she started for the stairs. "Where are you going?" Caine asked.

"Upstairs." She didn't hesitate when she reached the staircase. "I suppose that dinner is held at the usual time?" She placed one foot upon the steps, her hand resting on the banister as she started her climb. Bram's brows furrowed.

"They'll be happy to come down for you…"

"Oh, I should hate to inconvenience anyone," she said lightly. "Surely there is time to worry about greetings and reunions later? My room is upstairs, where it always has been, isn't it?" She continued to ascend the steps.

"Clair," Caine said a little desperately. "You're supposed to take it easy." He jogged up behind her. "I can carry you to your room…"

She turned her head to him, her eyes full of hurt and anger. "By no means, will I allow that. I will do as I like in my home, Caine. No one dictates to me here." She waved him off. "Go and show Eric the green room, won't you?"

"The green room?" Bram echoed from the foot of the stairs. Clair glanced back at him.

"No comments, Bram. Let Eric make up his own mind."

"I'm saying nothing," Bram promised solemnly. Clair hesitated, looking back to the head of the stairs.

"Have you been in Gr..Atherton's suite?"

"No." The handsome man shuddered. "We've left it alone. I didn't know if you wanted it opened and I wasn't certain of the codes..."

She nodded, her shoulders losing a little of their rigidity. "Wise of you," she remarked. "All in all, a livable arrangement. I'll attend to the master suite later. I think I will lie down for a little before dinner." She resumed her climb upstairs, moving steadily upwards. Bram turned to Eric, who watched Clair with concern, and grinned, distracting him.

"The green room," he repeated very softly. "Aren't you the dark horse?"

"What do you mean?" Eric asked in surprise. Bram reached for Mim, hooking an arm around the smaller man's shoulders, and turned his laughing eyes to his brother instead of replying.

"Give her a little head start, Caine, then show him the green room." He pulled his lover toward another door off the foyer. "Let me know the outcome."

Eric turned to look helplessly at Caine, who wasn't smiling. "I don't understand..."

"I have my orders, Mr. Finch," Caine glanced at Clair's retreating back and then back at the policeman. "Shall we tour the main rooms here before going up?"

Eric followed the bulky shouldered man through a maze of rooms, making mental note of the layout until Caine started up the stairs at last. Their steps were muted on the carpeted stairs. At the landing, Caine directed Eric to the right hand corridor, bringing him to a particular door. "In here," Caine said, swinging the door open and stepping aside to allow Eric entry.

The room was definitely green. The walls were papered in a lush jade, the furnishings were rich cherry woods, highlighted by emerald hued cloth and lush cushions. The enormous four-poster bed sported a down-filled coverlet that gleamed with rich jewel-toned greens of varying shades. Eric eyed the bed and the room with appreciation, thinking that "room" was a trifle misleading. The space was larger than his flat in London.

He looked at Caine, seeing the bland look on the big man's face. "Why this room?" he asked.

Caine shook his head. "No bias," he retorted. "D'you want it or no?"

Eric paced the length of the room silently. He opened the closet, peering into the shadowy depths, then opened another door to find an ensuite bath, decorated in pale ash gray and light sage green tiles. The bath alone was almost as big as the office he shared with Dom. Another door stood on the opposite end of the bath and Eric studied it perplexed. "Another closet?" he asked. Caine shook his head.

"No. That's the door to Clair's room, Mr. Finch."

Eric blinked in astonishment. "Clair's..." he repeated numbly. His heart leaped in his chest. "Oh." He stared at the closed door as the implications gradually became clear. "Oh."

Caine folded his arms across his broad chest. "Do you want it or no?"

"Oh, yes," Eric answered, staring at the distant door. "Oh, I definitely want it." He wondered later if they'd been discussing the same thing. Caine nodded.

"I'll have your things moved at once," he told the older man then turned and left. Eric barely noticed him go, his full attention on the door to Clair's bath and the idea that she was so close.

She wanted him near or she wouldn't have offered him the green room. No doubt Caine would tell her that Eric had accepted the offer and the policeman hoped that his acceptance would please Clair. She would either be pleased at his willingness or a little intimidated by it. He hoped for the former, hoped that it meant she was willing indeed to permit the chance to court her a little. Perhaps the nearness would make her remember him sooner. God, he hoped so. She was warming to him already, but Burlwood was full of the past and her Fingerman training... Would she turn against him as she sank back into her former life?

He left his new room and found Stephen in the corridor. The former vigilante was dressed in more formal fashion than usual, wearing a dark casual suit instead of the denims and polo shirts that were his normal costume. He grinned at Eric, eyes warm with welcome.

"Hullo, Eric. Everything going well?" he asked, clasping Eric's hand. "I trust that all went as planned?"

Eric nodded. "It did." He was glad that Stephen was here. "How is the boy?"

Stephen's grin widened. "Sleeping at last," he said. "He has an incredible set of lungs in him, Eric. He spent the morning wailing like a Bheansidhe, fell asleep about an hour ago after Evey gave him a dose of grippe water."

Eric frowned. "I should take him to the pediatrician," he said thoughtfully. "He's been colicky since he left the hospital."

"Probably the change in surroundings," Stephen said. "Come and look in on him, I know you've not been this long away from him since he was born."

Eric followed his friend to the nursery and Evey looked up from her seat in one of the big rocking chairs, giving him a wide smile. "Eric!" she whispered. He smiled at her and went to his son's crib. The baby lay on his back, face scrunched up as he slept, nursing at a phantom bottle. Eric felt the familiar rush of love for the boy, mingled with pride and concern, and fought against the urge to pick him up.

He went back to Evey and leaned over to look at Vanessa, who blinked at him sleepily over her bottle.

"Hello, precious," he greeted her. The baby released her bottle at the sound of his voice, smiling milkily at him. Evey smothered a laugh.

"Eric, you charmer," she scolded, mopping up the baby's face. "How's Clair?"

He sank into another rocking chair and sighed. "Much the same," he reported. "A bit distant since we left hospital, and then arrived here. Burlwood seems to trouble her a little. She went into the study the moment we got in the house..."

Stephen perked up. "She did?" He pursed his lips. "Did you catch the code she used?"

Eric's brows rose. "It was a biometric panel, Stephen, and a key code. She wouldn't let Caine in but there are a couple of maids on staff who have access. Are you still thinking about getting in there?"

"Biometric," Stephen mused. "Complicated..." He came back to the conversation. "Of course I want to get into the study, Eric. I'm certain that Atherton left instructions for his successor. Clair won't give them up without a fight and I don't like not knowing what may come when she's so vulnerable."

"Well, I think you may have to wait a bit." Eric rubbed at his forehead. "I don't want her to push herself too hard. She's only just gotten home and she's nowhere near one hundred percent."

"Has she said anything about meeting me?" Evey asked. "Or asked about Vanessa?" The expression on Eric's face answered her. "Oh."

"It's not personal, Evey," he told her sadly. "She's not the girl you knew at Gallowsmere... not until before Bram." The memory of Clair's personality change was still painful. "Shedoesn't take anyone else's feelings before her own. She can be abrupt and caustic but you have to look past that." Eric closed his eyes. "She's not the same, more's the pity, but she's still Clarissa somewhere in there."

"Then there's hope," Evey said firmly, looking down at her daughter. "That she'll come out again."

The nanny came into them, a young woman with a sweet smile, and took the baby from Evey so that they could go to dinner. Eric accompanied his friends downstairs to the dining room, finding Bram and Mim already sharing a drink. The couple greeted the newcomers warmly and they fell to chatting as they waited. Eric could not resist watching the door, barely tasting his drink as he tried to curb his anticipation.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: More new content, deviating from the original storyline. This story has slowed a bit from the first publication, as I really hated the breakneck speed and the sense that it was rushed. I think you'll like the outcome, even if the trip has slowed to a more leisurely pace.--Special Note to Ann: Thank you for the awesome review. Getting feedback makes my Muse get off her lazy duff and earn her ambrosia! ES

Disclaimers: I don't possess the rights to these characters or their world. I can't resist touching them though. I promise to put them back just as I found them. I make nothing from this effort but the satisfaction of writing.

**Dinner Distress**

Clair entered the dining room, Caine pacing beside her. Their arrival interrupted the soft conversation being held by the waiting family. Caine was dressed as a Fingerman, the fitted black uniform accentuating the air of menace that always surrounded him. Eric turned his attention to Clair's face, looking for signs of her current condition and noting her appearance.

The pretty frock had been replaced by something more reserved and while still casual, she looked older and more formal with her hair pulled up in a neat chignon. She wore Fingerman colors, black slacks and a vibrant red blouse under a sharp black blazer that reminded Eric of her outfit on the night that Bram had been rescued. The stark costume enhanced the paleness of her skin and the shadows in her dark eyes, making Eric wonder if she felt up to dinner with everyone.

Clair's eyes caught his, the expression on her face changing into a faint smile, and he realized that she was hiding behind the wall of emotional reservation. She wasn't at ease with the idea of having dinner with the family but her obligations were to be met. He had an idea that she wasn't one to run from her duty or she wouldn't be here.

Beside Eric, Stephen noticed Clair's arrival and felt silent in the middle of a sentence, staring at his niece with his full attention. Clair approached the two men, her smile fixed in place. "Good evening, Eric," she said politely, then cast a quick side glance at her uncle. "Stephen, you look well."

"I might say the same, Clarissa," Stephen remarked. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I look, I suppose." Clair dismissed the question with a wave. "Happy to be home again, certainly, and eager to complete the work that awaits." She focused upon Eric, her eyes brightening. "Were your accommodations satisfactory, Eric?"

He met her gaze. "Didn't Caine tell you?" She faltered at his mild tone, doubt sparking in her eyes. He regretted his words at the sight. "I have always liked green, Clair."he added quietly.

He almost missed the flash of relief that passed across her face but it warmed him that she looked suddenly happier. "Excellent." She smiled and the expression was warmer than before. "I'm pleased that you are pleased." Caine eyed Eric over his sister's shoulder, nodding almost imperceptibly as Bram joined them. Bram grinned at the gesture and laid a hand on Clair's arm.

"Hullo, love. Feeling rested?"

She turned to him and accepted a kiss on her cheek. "Certainly, brother mine." One hand lifted to his long black hair, ruffling the curls. "There are things that we need to discuss, you know..."

"Before dinner?"

She drew back and shook her head. "No, of course not. Tomorrow, I should think, is soon enough."

Stephen drew Evey against his side and addressed his niece. "Clair, you do not remember my wife, I think. This is Evey." Evey smiled at the younger girl but did not reach out to her. Clarissa gave the woman her attention, brown eyes coolly assessing but retaining a semblance of politeness.

"Hello, Clarissa."

Clair hesitated a moment then extended a hand. "Hello." There was a moment of silence as Evey took the offering then Clair lifted a brow. "Am I to call you Aunt?" she asked. "You're hardly old enough for it, I should think."

"Evey is fine, Clarissa." Evey squeezed the girl's hand briefly then released it. "I don't expect you to feel any familial connection just now."

Clair withdrew her hand, a strange expression on her face: confusion, some mix of emotion that seemed oddly lost, then she looked away. "Thoughtful of you," she said distantly. She started to turn away and paused, looking back at the woman beside Stephen. "As you are Stephen's wife, you should call me Clair. No one in my family calls me anything else."

Before anyone could react, she spun away gracefully, Caine and Bram in step with her. Evey exhaled a soft sigh, leaning against Stephen in relief, and her husband's arm tightened around her shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"She's so...different." Evey turned to Eric, eyes wide. "She's like..."

"She was before," he completed, keeping his voice low. "Yes, like she was in the study that day."

"Oh, Eric," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." She looked after the siblings, her generous mouth trembling. "I didn't realize that it was so complete."

"She's what she was before Atherton's last day." Eric watched Clair between her brothers, as she spoke with Mim. He admired her poise, the control that she demonstrated so clearly now that she was home again and in comfortable surroundings. Her acceptance of Evey was surprising to him, he'd not expected her to allow the woman to address her familiarly, but it was a good sign, he thought.

Clair seated herself at the end of the waiting table. Caine seated himself to her left, folding his hands on the table, his eyes wary. Clair leaned back in her chair and waited to be served as the meal was brought in by the staff.

A maid appeared with Clair's food, smiling as she laid it before the young woman. "Good evening, Miss Avery," she said politely. "It's good to have you home again."

"Thank you," Clair replied. "I'm glad to be home again." She lifted a cool smile to the woman. "You look well, Amelia. I am pleased to note that you are still with us."

"The regular staff came back when we knew that you were coming home." Amelia's smile faltered. "We were afraid that you were...that Himself had decided..."

Clair lifted a hand, stopping the woman's speech. "No, not this time," she said softly. "All is well, Amelia." She smiled reassuringly. "I hope that Cook will be up to preparing for a few gatherings as we'll be opening the house to company soon..?"

The people seated at the table hesitated at the announcement, exchanging quick glances. Stephen and Bram seemed surprised, Mim looked nervous, and Evey frowned at Eric, who shook his head faintly at her unspoken question. Clair hadn't said anything to him about plans.

"Of course, Miss Avery." Amelia's smile broadened in response. "She'll be delighted." She bobbed a curtsy and hurried off.

Bram cleared his throat. "Gatherings, Clair?" he asked, interrupting her contemplation of her food.

"Oh, yes. We'll be entertaining soon. Hadn't I mentioned it?"

"No, you hadn't said anything." Bram picked up his glass and sipped from it. "Anything we should know about?"

"Not really, nothing pressing. I'll have more to tell you after I attend to some details." She reached for her own glass.

"We'll need to know your plans to insure that you are protected, Clair." Stephen interjected. Clair looked surprised.

"Protected?" she repeated, making a wry face. "Whatever do you intend to protect me from, Stephen? I am home again, in the bosom of my family... What do I need protection from, pray tell?"

"You are not yet well," he pointed out. "Obviously there are still things you do not recall, people who cared for you and no doubt people who may have reason to want to injure you for your position at my father's right hand." Clair's mouth fined to a line of irritation.

"No doubt, Stephen." With an effort she curbed whatever she might have said next, the anger vanishing as though it had never been. "I will have more to tell you after I examine the details." She sipped at her water and settled her glass back on the table. "I have things to see to."

"I recall that Shepherd is a hazardous job, Clair," Stephen said sharply. "As my father would tell you, were he available to do so. Any idea where he might be?"

She stared at him, suddenly very still, her face a mask without expression. "Not presently." Her voice was low, throbbing with anger. "But I might learn something soon after I've mustered the Fingermen in London to locate your twin. No doubt Atherton's absence is linked to Evelyn's activities, as we all know that your brother had little love for Grandfather's politics."

Mim choked on a swallow of wine. Clair flicked her napkin open, laying over her lap before studying her plate for a moment. "Ah, my favorite," she mused. " Shepherd's pie. How nice that Cook remembered!"

"You're the only one with the memory loss, Clair. Just you." Caine's voice was neutral but she turned a sharp look at him. He was unmoved by it, sitting as though nothing had been said. She shook her head in disbelief.

"Thank you for the obvious reminder, Caine." She dropped her napkin upon her plate and rose. "I just remembered that I'm not hungry." Shaking her head, she stalked out of the room in the direction of the foyer.

Bram surged to his feet. "Damnit, Caine, you ass, that was unnecessary!"

"She's being a bitch," Caine retorted. He shook his head. "You can't just pretend that this is some temporary change, Bram. She's not herself, that we knew, but there is nothing helpful in pretending that we're a regular family having dinner. She knows more than she's saying already. Playing polite isn't going to get you answers."

"Antagonizing her isn't a better choice," Eric snapped. He got up from the table and left the room as well.

He caught up to Clair halfway to the foyer. She paused when he said her name and he was surprised to find her eyes bright with tears. "Did you hurt yourself?" he asked worriedly.

"No, I'm fine." She swiped at her eyes angrily. "I don't know why I'm..." She fell silent and Eric produced a white handkerchief, pressing it into her hands. She accepted it, dabbing at her tears. He watched her with concern. "I'm not usually this...girlish."

"Well, I wouldn't think you'd be a man about the situation," he said. The comment brought a smile to her face and she sighed shakily.

"I expect not," she agreed, her tone rueful. "I'm not quite myself yet, I suppose."

He reached out to her, cupping her cheek. "You will be, Clair." Running his thumb over the corner of her mouth, he leaned a little closer. "You look beautiful, you know." When she pressed her cheek into his touch, he met her gaze with sincerity. She stared into his eyes, a little puzzled. "Come along, Clair, let me walk you to your room." Silently he led her back upstairs, to her door, and they stood face to face for a long moment in silence. Finally Clair heaved a sigh, shaking her head.

"Why do you care about me?" she asked him. "You took the abuse that I gave you while in hospital, you came to Burlwood with me despite that, and now... you accepted the green room. Why?"

"It's Thursday," he reminded her with a smile. "And as I caught you just now... Shouldn't I get a prize?" Before she could respond, he reached around her to take the clip from her hair. She protested softly as the brown curls tumbled over her shoulders but he pocketed the item. "Mine," he declared.

"Give that back!" He shook his head.

"Prisoner of war."

Her eyes narrowed. "Friday arrives in a few hours," she threatened silkily. "I'll mount a counterstrike."

He paused at the implication, a dazed look crossing his face that made her blush, and swallowed. "Then I suppose I should get ready, shouldn't I?" he asked hoarsely. She leaned into him, pressing her mouth to his suddenly, one hand over his heart. He surrendered to the demands of her lips, delighting in her touch as he cupped the back of her head to keep her close, drowning in the scent of her hair and skin.

The kiss wasn't submissive at all. Eric remembered kissing Clarissa often at Gallowsmere and she had always surrendered to his mouth, yielding herself to his hunger and satisfying hers at the same time. Clair kissed him with an intensity that was new to him but no less arousing. She grazed his lip with her teeth and when he copied the gesture, she whimpered and clutched at his lapels.

He broke the kiss reluctantly. "Easy, Clair," he whispered against her cheek. "There's time..."

"Is there?" she whispered back, her lips brushing the line of his jaw. "It doesn't feel that way at all."

"I'm not leaving this time," he reassured her. She stiffened and he realized what he'd said. "Clair..."

She drew back to look at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "I can't do much more than kiss you," she sighed. "But... I'd like to." She tugged at his lapels, uncharacteristically shy suddenly. "Would you like to come in for a little while?"

He hadn't expected the request and it staggered him that she'd asked. To be alone with her, without threat of intrusion or an audience... It was dangerous, he knew, but so tempting. It didn't escape him that she hadn't caught what he'd said, rather had misinterpreted it to mean something else entirely. "It's still Thursday," he murmured, trying to delay long enough to think. Clair flinched at the statement and he grasped suddenly that she took it for a rejection. "You're tempting me, Miss Avery, to forget that I am under threat of attack." He traced the edge of her ear with his fingers as he spoke and she leaned into his touch, her eyes closing.

"Would you just keep me company, Eric?" she asked. "I enjoyed our talks when you sat with me at night." She opened her eyes to look up at him earnestly. "I like the sound of your voice..."

"Is that all?" he teased. "Just my voice?"

The question caught her unprepared and she hesitated, cheeks pinking up. The silence lingered until he took pity on her and let his fingers curve against her jaw, confessing "I was afraid that you'd have better offers than my company, Clair, now that you're home again."

She sighed. "Other offers, no doubt, but hardly better."

Eric smiled down at her. "Then it's still Thursday," he reminded her. "May I come inside for a little while?"

She smiled back, eyes lighting up with pleasure. "Please do, Mr. Finch." She pushed open her bedroom door and led him inside.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: Remind me again, won't you? I keep meaning to make this more of an ensemble attempt then I fixate on my fave couple. Sorry, readers of this twisted tale: I am a bad storyteller. Sigh. Bear with me, please... I shall make amends, I promise. ES

Disclaimers: Endlessly she said: They don't belong to me, I am taking liberties with someone else's intellectual property, but please don't sue, as everything I do, I do it for love and never money...

**Interlude 2**

He was shackled to a steel ring, the weight of his body pulling at the metal cuffs at his wrists. The gag stuffed into his dry mouth felt as though it would be welded to his tongue. The rest of his body was unhurt. It didn't make him feel better; it just made him afraid of the pain that would come once they noticed him and it was time for him to be in the chair.

The room stank of disinfectants, bleach or something else institutional, but he could scent something under it, a sharp acrid tang of something dark and unsettling. H knew that scent, knew it all to0 well from his early days in training. The stink of fear. He'd smelled it time and time again, from fellow officers, from felons, in cars and in interrogation rooms. Never a pleasant memory, and more upsetting because he knew that this time it was coming from him, rising out of his pores to alert the woman in black that he was terrified of what this room meant and what she was planning to do.

He tried to ease the strain on his wrists, straightening to his full height and shifting his weight. The ring shifted with him, his chains made a soft sound, bell-like in the thick silence, and she lifted her head to look at him.

Dressed in black, her long brown hair braided neatly down her back, she was rather pretty: big brown eyes fringed with thick black lashes, lush mouth slightly pouted, and fair skin. She eyed him for a long moment then nodded once.

"Uncomfortable?" she asked, knowing that he couldn't reply. One brow lifted in curiosity. "You've waited so patiently so far without fidgeting. Are you ready to move to the chair?" She was leaning against the long table, laden with its many tools, idly arranging and rearranging them to perfection, and she straightened herself, stretching languidly.

He stared at her. Beautiful. Dangerous. Deadly. He wished his mind would just shut up and stop labeling her.

She stepped across the room, silent in the knee high boots, gracefully approaching him. "Do you think V will come?" she asked lightly. "Do you think there will be a reprieve for you this time?"

Pausing beside him, she looked up into his face and her attention made his skin crawl, every hair on his body rising to tingling alert. She stood close enough that her perfume cut through the stink of his own terror and dizzied him. She lifted one hand, touching his shirtfront with delicate fingers as her fine dark brows drew into a slight frown. Under her hand, his heart galloped wildly, racing to escape from what he knew was coming.

"You wondered why," she whispered. The words cut through him like a knife. "And I suppose that I could have answered you." Her mouth curved into a dreamy smile. "It might be easier to show you."

From nowhere, she lifted a lit cigarette to her lips and dragged a lungful of smoke from it. The ember glowed bright, absorbing his attention, filling his field of vision until the world was on fire and his skin shrieked against the coming pain...

... To open his eyes, shuddering and confused, while his wife prodded him lightly.

"Wake up, Dom!" she exclaimed. He blinked at her in the darkness, seeing her welcome outline and knowing that he had woken her with his nightmare.

"Sorry, love," he mumbled, feeling his heart tripping fast as a rabbit's. "Dreaming..."

She made a dismissive sound. "Night terrors, more like," she chided. "Must have been an awful one." She lay back down, sliding up against him. "Perhaps that's gotten rid of it?"

He wrapped her in his arms, welcoming the familiar comfort of her embrace and the smell of her soft skin gratefully. "Sorry," he said into the curve of her throat. "Just a stupid nightmare, nothing to worry about."

She settled into his arms as the night grew still around them. After a few moments, she sighed. "I love you, Constable."

"I love you too," he told her as the safety of her arms made him slip back toward sleep, basking in the warm sweetness of her presence. Eric had been right, he thought fuzzily as he drifted off, and he was glad of it.

Marriage was far more than a ceremony.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Notes: Happy Holidays from the pen of EnigmaSphinx. I hope this chapter finds you all well and enjoying a little escape from the tedium of the Non-V-Verse. I hope to have a bit more before Christmas but I cannot make promises, as I am horrible at fulfilling them.

Disclaimers: I do not own the creations who people the original world of V, but I shamelessly force them to participate with my original characters. I promise that I will return them whole and unharmed. I admit that I am counting on a roaring case of Stockholm Syndrome to sway them from their originators though.

**Breach of Security**

Clair woke alone, chilled to the bone and startled by the sudden sense of disappointment that flooded her the moment her eyes opened.

Eric's scent was still on her pillow, but the man himself was not in the room. Clair eased herself out of bed and studied the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly 3 am, a bleak hour to Clair's way of thinking, as she knew that she'd get no more sleep and there wasn't anyone awake to keep her company. Raking a hand through her hair, she decided to tend to the most pressing of her duties rather than delay any longer.

She dressed haphazardly, still slightly distracted by the memory of lying beside Eric, a wholly unique experience (that she'd enjoyed), and her distress upon awakening alone (which she hadn't). She forced the thoughts from her mind and silently slipped downstairs to the waiting study.

Pressing the thumb-print reader, she keyed in the correct code and went inside, making certain to close the door silently and securely behind her. "Lights," she commanded, pleased when the system triggered and there were no more shadows in the room. The room had been dusted, she noticed immediately, and the thought made her anxious. She seated herself behind the desk and eased open a drawer as she powered up the computer before activating the multi-channel feeds. A soft chime sounded .

"Voice print identification required for further access." The security system had a pleasant feminine voice that sent revulsion through the woman at the desk. Clarissa leaned back in her chair, wincing when the movement pulled uncomfortably at her belly.

"Clarissa Victoria Avery, Chief Interrogator to Atherton Avery, Shepherd of England," she intoned bitterly, hating the computer's simulated syrupy tones. The computer gave a soft chime.

"Identity verified. Issue primary code for initial activation, please."

"His eye is on the sparrow."

She stroked her abdomen absently while she waited for the computer to acknowledge her code. Her body was recovering too slowly for her satisfaction but she wasn't as uncomfortable as she had been in hospital. She realized that she was hungry. She'd had nothing to eat since the hospital breakfast so many hours before. The computer interrupted her train of thought.

"Secondary code for full activation." Clair gritted her teeth as she answered.

"It is better to reign in hell than serve in Heaven."

The computer processed the code. "Clarissa Victoria Avery, chief interrogator, classified access now available."

Clarissa nodded, pursing her lips. "Cite last recording of the Shepherd as known to you."

"Last interaction was London domicile, question and answer session recorded for future viewing."

"Cite current location of the Shepherd?" she asked her automated companion.

"Current coordinates not on File," the system announced. "Shepherd is out of this system's range."

Clair straightened the blotter on the desk thoughtfully. "Has the shepherd been in contact with you since this entry?"

"Negative. No additional entries made."

"New data to hierarchy: Classification: Atherton Avery is deceased. Shepherd position is voided."

"Nullification recorded. State designate for interim shepherd." The system's voice held no emotion, unlike the person the voice had been recorded by. One of Atherton's many mistresses had provided the simulated voice, but she'd been a very demonstrative woman both vocally and physically... Clair shied away from those memories and shook her head to clear it.

"Clarissa Avery." She waited while the computer chewed that over. It took longer than she expected.

"Designate unacceptable."

"I'm the only choice there is." Clair raked a hand through her hair. "Override code clarification, you box of circuits. I am the way, the truth and the life. Clarissa Avery is interim designate." Clarissa leaned her elbows on the desk. "Don't make me reprogram you," she muttered. "Or rather...do make me."

The computer checked and rechecked the codes against its parameters. "Master override code required." Clarissa snorted.

"I thought it would be," she muttered. "Override code: The best shepherd is a wolf."

The computer conceded the battle. "Clarissa Avery is confirmed as interim shepherd."

She nodded to herself, satisfied with the result. "Lovely. Now let's to business, shall we? Send out coded messages to all lambs awaiting orders. Message as follows: Announce interim shepherd. Candidates for permanent shepherd will selected from applicants for position. Protocols are to be observed strenuously. There will be no direct contact without prior authorization. End message." She tapped on the desk.

"Now, let us take care of a few points. Access files of record for Bram Avery and Caine Avery."

"Both units have been deactivated, designation: deceased"

"Hardly," Clarissa retorted. "Rescind designation deceased. Recompile records and reinstate to full duty."

"Action completed, Shepherd. Current duty assignments for given subjects?"

"Bram Avery moves into chief interrogator position; Caine Avery becomes the Flail. Is that clear?"

"Classifications completed, shepherd."

"Give them proper access to this room, you idiot savant, and permit them limited access to the mainframe. Any requests beyond cursory level 3 will require secondary authorization from Shepherd to permit access."

"Completed, Shepherd."

"Excellent," Clarissa murmured. "Next: compile complete dossiers on following individuals for me: Stephen Avery, Evey Avery, Mim Baker, and Eric Finch. All materials are locked to my eyes only." She glanced toward the door thoughtfully. "All aliases and full backgrounds, mind you. Nothing halfway." She plucked a tablet of paper from a desk drawer and uncapped a ink pen. "Now, access the last recorded session from Londo..."

A rattle in the corridor interrupted her command and Clair slid to her feet, her heart thudding in her chest as her adrenaline spiked. She slipped her hand into the open drawer on her left, laying her palm on the revolver that waited there. "New command. Activate cameras in the main corridors," she whispered, fixing her gaze on the monitors. "Locate movement and identify source, audio output to 25 percent of normal."

The monitors flickered on, multiple images of Burlwood's hallways appearing simultaneously. Clair scanned the pictures, automatically looking for the source of the noise. A moment later, she recognized a figure walking toward the kitchens, just past the main lobby. Her realization was echoed a moment later by the computer.

"Warm Body Signature located, ground level, quad 4. Identification pending confirma..."

"Disregard," Clair interrupted, relieved. "Current session will be terminated. We'll begin again later."

"Acknowledged, Shepherd. England Prevails."

The system monitors went dark and Clair swept her materials back inside the drawers, locking them and closing the desk up securely. She made her way out of the study and went to find Eric.

She found him in the kitchen, stepping into the cook's domain quietly behind him. Eric had his back to the door, his head stuck inside the refrigerator. Clair felt her heart tremble at the sight of him and the sensation was both pleasant and frightening. A flash of warmth went through her, happiness bubbling along her nerves with awareness of him.

"Having a midnight feast?" she whispered. Eric straightened suddenly, striking his head on the side of one of the shelves, and Clair rushed forward to help him, alarmed at the result of her question. Eric squinted at her, one hand rubbing the new bump on his head.

"You startled me," he said accusingly. Clair shook her head, reaching out to him.

"I am sorry," she said softly. "I didn't realize that you didn't know I was there." She touched the small lump on his crown lightly. "Are you alright?"

He stared at her, still a little startled. "You took a few years off my life, I think." His voice was a bit breathless but when she tried to pull away, his hand caught hers unerringly. He turned his mouth to her wrist. "Don't go," he protested, his lips soft but framed with stubble that teased her nerves.

Clair gasped at the sensation of his lips touching her skin, the sweetness of it almost piercing in its intensity. She was helpless, unable to pull away and uncertain about moving closer. Eric turned his eyes to hers, looking at her with that particular expression that made her want... She didn't exactly know what she wanted from him but she didn't want to leave him. "Eric," she whispered. "You're breaking me..."

His eyes darkened at her confession and she caught her breath as he leaned forward to kiss her. There was something so hungry in his mouth on hers that she whimpered and found herself pressed against him, unaware that she'd moved. He kissed her lingeringly, one hand holding her arm still and the other cupping the back of her head tenderly.

Clair surrendered to his strength, giving herself over to his control despite the fear that spiked through her at her daring. Had Atherton been alive, she would never have dared to let herself trust someone enough to be so vulnerable. The old man would have had Eric bagged for tempting her to forget her training and would have done far worse to Clair for allowing it, for feeling so soft and tender toward someone, for loving Eric...

The realization shocked her. She flinched back, eyes wide, and Eric lifted his head, looking down at her in concern. "Clair," he whispered. "Did I hurt you?"

She said nothing, still stunned by what she was thinking. She studied his face, seeing him clearly suddenly. She loved him. 

_She loved him? How in the hell had that happened? When? _

Her thoughts whirled with images of him from the hospital, with snippets of dreams about him, with a kaleidoscope of expressions on his face... features bright with happiness, then his mouth somber, his brows knitted with concern, then a laughing teasing lightness in his eyes... She recognized them all but she wondered: _When did I grow so familiar with his expressions? When have I ever seen him in any of those specific attitudes? _Spellbound she stared at him, willing the images to become clear, to solidify into memories that she could classify.

"Clair?" he said again, his voice full of concern. "What is it?"

She hesitated still, the images of his expressions dancing across her mind's eye and confused about where/how/_when_ she'd seen them before. Before she could think of an answer to give him., a sense of dread overcame her. She pulled back, puzzled more than before, and tilted her head back slightly. "I... You didn't hurt me. But..." She blinked at him, uncertainty robbing her of her usual confidence. "Didn't I... Haven't I...." Simply trying to say it, to frame the question made her skin rise up in gooseflesh. Panic flared along her nerves.

Eric lifted his hands to cup her face, staring down at her with an expression of saddened worry that she knew well from the hospital. "Easy, Clair," he said gently. "Don't force it."

She let herself stand under his hands for a long moment, caught between the confusion of her thoughts and the welcome touch on her face. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, his eyes warm as he watched her. "You are so beautiful," he continued, his voice soft in the stillness. "So warm..."

She pulled away as a sound reached her faintly, turning her head to hear it more clearly. It came again and she recoiled as a pain went through her belly in response. She pressed a hand over the hurt, startled by the sharpness of it. It was the thin cry of a baby.

Her heart pounded, reverberating through her head with every beat. She felt a rush of panic and gathered herself in preparation. Eric reached out and caught her hand lightly.

"Don't," he whispered urgently. "Don't run, I can't follow you."

The phrase shocked her, echoed in her ears so that it nearly deafened her to the ghostly cry. She stiffened, clutching at his hand this time, her body as tight as a bowstring. "I...I...." She couldn't think of what to say. Eric nodded, despite the sadness in his gaze, his touch holding her in place.

"Stay, Clair," he urged. "Stay with me."

She hesitated for a moment but the sound came again, closer this time, and it hit Clair almost physically. Her stomach twisted with sudden anguish, knotting on itself until she couldn't bear it. She wrenched herself from Eric's hands and backed toward the door, watching him warily. She could see his disappointment but her panic was driving her to run and she could not ignore it.

Again the baby wailed. Now it was in the corridor and coming rather swiftly toward the kitchen. Clair shuddered and recoiled from the sound, moving rapidly to the other side of the room.

"Where will you go, Clair?" Eric asked from behind her. She didn't look at him, merely pushed aside a narrow baker's rack standing against the far wall. A dark opening was revealed and Clair stepped through it, letting the rack slide back into place behind her. Eric called out her name, his voice half-smothered under the baby's cry, but she raced away through the darkness toward silence and safety.

The other end of the corridor opened to her playroom. The exercise equipment, covered by cloths, gleamed dully, ghostlike in the shadows. Clair automatically locked the passage door before wandering toward the center of the room, looking around the gym in confusion. She circled her sparring dummy warily, caution habitual after years of conditioning.

Part of her was still thinking of the baby.

_Who'd been carrying it through the house, why it had been crying, what was wrong with it? _

She tried to shut the questions from her mind. She didn't want to think about it.

_Burlwood was no place for innocents. It killed the weak, didn't it? Or had that been Atherton's specialty?_

She tore the covering from the dummy roughly.

_Nothing attached to Burlwood is innocent_, she reminded herself. _Nothing and no one._

Lifting a hand, Clair struck the figure in the chest. The dummy's face, drawn by Bram years before, was a grimacing caricature of Creedy's leer. It mocked her silently until she drove the heel of her hand into the painted nose. She did it again and again, letting the shock of each blow travel through her to shatter the soft and confusing feelings that she'd discovered in Eric's arms and leave her clear and empty inside.

The dummy's head tilted sideways with a sharp crack, leering at her all the same. She paused to study at it.

"Is that how you looked at V?" The mental picture was ludicrous and the threatening hysteria seized her. It would not let up, even after she sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness until the madness lifted. Sober again, her eyes were clear when she looked up at the dummy's grotesque face and saw herself in it's place.

_V will come_, she thought. _V will come to find us and he will mete out his justice to the Averys. It will not matter that we are his children, that we didn't ask to be made. He will judge us in his madness and we will pay for his hatred for Atherton and Norsefire. No one in this house will be safe._

_**No one.**_

She thought of the baby again as chills went down her spine. "I am Shepherd," she repeated softly. "I will decide...". She got to her feet again and righted the dummy's head with trembling fingers. That done, she looked around herself and nodded. "Time is running out," she murmured. ""The Prodigal will return and the feast must be prepared, I suppose."

Satisfied, she left the playroom to find another way upstairs to the safety of her room.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Notes: I apologize for the long delay in posting this chapter. I had a hard time getting this installment pulled together and it took me a lot of editing to make it tolerable. I haven't given up on the tale, however. More will follow, I promise. Thank you for reading.

Disclaimers: I don't own the v-verse, I wish I did for there are things that I might wish to do with them had I the chance and authority to meddle with them all. I make nothing from this tale but the gratification of reviews and they come like water in the desert. Please don't sue me. LOL

**The Fold**

Most of the household was already present at table when Clair appeared at breakfast, looking like a junior executive in a severe suit and sleek chignon. The general hush that welcomed her arrival was ignored as she seated herself. Silently bypassing the tea pot, she poured a cup of steaming coffee, added a heaping spoonful of sugar to the black brew, then focused her attention on the newspapers beside her setting as she stirred..

Bram frowned at his sister. "Clair? How are you feeling this morning?" he asked awkwardly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like the dead,"she replied, then sampled her coffee. The following silence lengthened as the members of the household exchanged glances as Clair scanned the headlines for a few moments more, settling the cup back on its saucer. When she pushed the papers aside with a sigh, her glance skittered past Eric without pause before resting on Bram again.

"I've been tying up loose ends this morning," she said matter of factly. "You'll have your access to the study restored today as I've reactivated your file and issued your new rank..."

Caine lifted his head at that. His sister nodded to him with a smile. "You also, Caine. All old accesses have been eliminated, of course, therefore new ones will be generated. It will be of primary importance that you bring yourselves up to speed immediately. Contenders for the permanent Shepherd position will begin contacting us very soon."

Caine made a short sound of agreement. "What do you need me to do?" he asked. Her smile widened slightly.

"You are my Flail, of course, and Bram is my CI, as originally planned. I expect you to be on call until further notice, since the contenders will be eager to visit us, each trying to get the chance to present their causes before the others." Caine nodded as Bram leaned back in his chair, studying his sister thoughtfully.

"You've accepted the interim position publicly?"

"Of course." Clair picked up her coffee again. "There is no sense in letting the factions believe that there isn't an Avery in charge any longer that is strictly necessary. Now that they know I am picking up the slack, they will come to us as quickly as they can."

Stephen frowned at Clair, his jaw clenching. "Is that wise?" he asked. "You've been home less than 24 hours..."

"Needs must when the Devil drives," she retorted sharply, giving him an annoyed look. "Don't be too concerned, Stephen. I am aware that you wish to present your cause without delay but I'll insure that the contest is as unbiased as possible."

His mouth thinned into a harsh line. "That is not what I was thinking of, Clair. You're still convalescing. So much... stress may impede your progress."

"Really?" she asked without warmth, her voice low. "How solicitous of you, then. I should have thought that your focus would be on the prize. Once the rest of the players arrive, there won't be a great deal of time for anything else... Which brings up another point." She paused, her attention drifting to Evey seated beside Stephen then back to her coffee cup. "All extraneous personnel must vacate the house. Today."

The shock went through the room bringing a palpable change of atmosphere. Mim's mouth opened in a silent 'ooh' as he took in the meaning behind the words. Eric frowned and lowered his own cup, leaning forward slightly as he focused on Clair's face.

In the silence, the maid brought in Clair's plate, setting it down on the table with a smile. "Good morning, Miss Avery."

"Good morning, Amelia." Clair returned the maid's smile while laying her napkin across her lap. "Do ask Cook to see me this afternoon for a little planning session, please?" The maid nodded and left.

"You can't mean to evict Evey," Bram said roughly when they were alone. "Or Mim, Clair!"

"But I do," she replied. "In point of fact, I have just done so." She picked up her fork. "They will remove themselves from the house and grounds immediately."

"What?" Stephen demanded. His outburst was echoed by Bram, voices rumbling with threat, resonating with outrage, and Clair ignored them both.

"No," Eric said quietly. Clair hesitated over her plate to meet his gaze. Eric shook his head at her. "No one is leaving Burlwood."

She lifted one dark brow. "This is my house, Eric," she reminded him. "I will decide who stays or goes."

"Not this time," he said slowly. "We've all come here to help you, Clair, to see you through this convalescent period. We are all staying to the end, until this fiasco is finished."

"It simply won't do." For a moment, he could see through her calm mask to the turmoil behind it and his heart sang in recognition of it. Suddenly she smiled at him, the expression false as her voice became softer, almost playful. "Really, Eric, I am home now. I think it would be best if we didn't treat this as some sort of grand adventure. There is a great deal to be done and the fewer distractions, the better."

"Bollocks. I'm not falling for it, Clair." His steady gaze caught the flicker of surprise in hers and he smiled coldly. "You're planning something, and you seem to think that you can push us out of the way again. Not this time."

Her playful demeanor faltered, revealing a flash of irritation, then she changed tack again to distract him. "What are you talking about? Push you out of the way again? What do you mean 'this time'?"

Eric folded his hands on the table. "No one is leaving, Clair," he said firmly. "No one."

"What do you mean," she persisted. "By 'this time'? Is this another secret that you're keeping from me?"

"That has nothing to do with this," he retorted. "We are not leaving you to face the bloody Fingermen alone." The statement was flat, without heat, but Clair reacted as though he'd slapped her. She rocked back in her seat, cheeks flushing with rage despite her self-control. He waited, hiding his worry for her behind the mask that Evey called 'police face' as Clair contemplated him with narrowed eyes. He wondered if she would be able to outlast him and vowed to himself that he was not going to let her put distance between them as she had before. She finally looked away, her body taut in her chair, fingers white upon the armrests.

"Burlwood is my home," she said sharply. "I don't want anyone here that doesn't belong."

"We belong." Eric ignored the others in the room, speaking only to the woman before him. "You can depend upon us, Clair. Not just your brothers, but all of us." He watched as she retreated from him emotionally, the lines of distress deepening around her lips. "A house divided cannot stand, Clair. You'll risk everything by pulling us apart and you can't afford to put a foot wrong with so much at stake."

She didn't reply, instead staring at him, emotions conflicting in her eyes. He knew he was right when at last she looked away, her glance flickering over the others before coming back to him, the bittersweet brown cold and flat.

"I will not be dictated to in my home."

"But neither will you dictate to us. If you have a reason why some of us should leave, then state it and let us choose. I don't have to obey your orders. Neither does Evey or Mim."

"And that is exactly why you don't belong here," Clair pointed out bitterly. "This house will be full of Fingermen shortly, not to mention..." She shook her head. "I have enough to think about without the lot of you worrying me."

"What are you concerned about?" Mim asked from beside Bram. When Clair hesitated to answer, Mim smiled at her encouragingly. "Why do we worry you?"

"Because you're unknown variables," she snapped. "You aren't Fingermen, you've neither training nor reputation..." She broke off. "I don't know what you may do and I do not need distractions as the trials begin."

"We will do whatever you need us to do." Mim promised. Clair's lips tightened into a thin line.

"Then I need all of you to leave."

"Except that," Eric said. "But whatever else you might need, of course."

She slid to her feet angrily. He got up to confront her, cutting her off from leaving the room, and was hurt when she recoiled from him, avoiding contact. "Not this time," he said again, his voice pitched for her alone. "We finish this here and now."

"Get out of my house and take the others with you," she spat waspishly. "There, it's finished."

"Not at all," he snapped, his temper rising although his voice did not. "This may be your home, but you opened it to me, Clair. You'll not order me to leave this time, you'll not have me barred from Burlwood, and you'll listen to what I have to say." She glared at him, simmering with fury, but Eric felt no fear of her rage as his own was perilously close to boiling over. "You aren't fully recovered, despite your bloody minded willfulness to believe the opposite. You will spread yourself too thin trying to stay ahead of the pack. If you gave this some thought, you'd realize that you can't do this without us. You need us here to keep you safe while you play this stupid game with the Fingermen, because you cannot watch your back with your head up your ass."

Standing toe to toe, neither one seemed inclined to move. His determination to show her the flaw in her logic was more than equal to her need to prove that she didn't need anyone other than her brothers. The benefit of being so close to her was that he was drowning in her scent even as he felt the warmth of her body rolling over his skin. There seemed to be no one in his world but her.

He wondered if he filled her field of vision as she did his, blotting everything but her beloved face...

She was trembling. He noticed it suddenly and his focus sharpened. She was as pale as ever, features stonily hostile, but the set of her jaw seemed to indicate a certain vulnerability instead of simple temper. He steeled his resolve and kept his feelings behind his impassive official mask. She needed to listen, whether she liked it or not.

"You aren't up to the game you're setting up," he murmured more gently. "And if they break you, they won't care if you ever mend again. We will do everything we can to help you heal, Clair, but not if it means letting you shatter yourself for nothing..."

"Nothing?" she interrupted. "What would you know of it, Eric? None of you must remain here when the wolves come."

"The wolves?" Stephen repeated. Clair nodded, still staring into Eric's face as she spoke to her uncle.

"Who else would it be but the wolves, Stephen? Did you expect a handful of sheep to come bleating to Burlwood? Once they know that the seat is open, nothing will stop them from coming here."

"They are the cream of the Elite," Stephen said, horrified. "Clair, you'll be over-matched."

"Not with us here to shield her," Caine scoffed. "We remember them well from before."

"And you had Atherton to stand between you and certain death then," Stephen snapped. "He might have killed you himself, but he'd never allow anyone else to take your lives as you carried the Avery name. He cannot protect you now." He shifted his attention to his niece. "Clair, this is madness!"

"Which confirms my decision as the right one," she said, the words sharp and final. "I will have all of you as far from here as possible."

"No, not this time. I will not leave you to face this alone. Do you understand me?" When she flinched from his words, Eric caught her shoulders. She tried to pull away but he held her in place, sensing that she was near her limits. "You can't run from this. I won't let you go again." Tremors ran through her slight frame but he pulled her closer despite them, handling her gently. "Trust us, Clair. You don't have to do this alone."

"There is no other way," she whispered against his shoulder. "Eric..." For a moment, she leaned into his strength, trembling, then suddenly she wrenched away, her expression cold again. "Assurances change nothing, you see. You must leave Burlwood."

"I am not afraid of Fingermen." Eric was startled when Clair barked out a bitter laugh.

"And V? Have you no fear of him either?"

"V? What does he have to do with this?" Stephen asked, rising to his feet with a scowl.

"With all the major contenders in one place," Clair pointed out. "Do you honestly think he won't make an appearance? The crown of his holy war would be to kill the serpent at it's head, wouldn't it?" She glanced at Stephen. "Will you deny that your brother's vendetta makes him every bit as dangerous as the wolves?"

Stephen hesitated, then shook his head. "No, I can't," he whispered.

"As the current head of the Fingermen," she continued. "I am in the line of fire. Should V come here, no doubt he will do his best to take out anyone who stands with me or in his way."

"But..." Evey protested. "Surely you cannot believe he would harm his own children..."

"I doubt he thinks of us as such. I certainly don't think of him as my father." Clair spread her hands, palms up. "There are the cards as dealt. Dead wood must leave the table now."

"We're in for the whole hand, Clair, all or nothing," Eric said fiercely.

She stared at him, the conflict in her brown eyes bared for him to see, and he wondered what she was thinking, if she understood how sincere he really was. Suddenly the telephone on the sideboard shrilled, the sound shattering the quiet and startling everyone in the room. Clair paled at the sound and Eric reached for her automatically, his fingers closing about hers reassuringly.

The phone rang again, the sound impatient and insistent. It cut off suddenly when someone answered it. Clair's fingers tightened on Eric's hand, trembling in his grasp, as she stared toward the closed door. A moment later, it opened and Amelia poked her head in.

"Miss Avery," she said politely. "The call is for you."

Clair nodded and pulled away from Eric's touch. "I will take the call in the study," she directed. "We are finished here." Without further comment, she left the dining room. Eric watched her go, wanting nothing more than to follow.

Bram's voice broke the silence. "Stephen, what should we do?" he asked. "She can't just send Mim and Evey away!"

Stephen took Evey's hand, his face troubled. "She may not have the wrong idea, Bram," he said heavily. "The wolves are coming... They aren't predictable, they're savage..." He studied his wife's face for a moment. "You'd be far safer away from here."

Evey's chin lifted, her brown eyes fixed upon his. "I'm not leaving,"she told him. "You'll have to think up another plan."

Stephen nodded slowly. "Very well," he said. "I'll see what can be done."


End file.
